Bullet in the Head
by agoraphobiantic
Summary: Isabella Swan is the Chicago book tycoon, and Edward Cullen is the literary prodigy that never wrote a second book. He is the wildness to her restraint, the spontaneity to her organization, and the answer to all the problems she never knew she had.
1. The Dog Days

**Author disclaims: It just aint mine.**

**Author summarizes: Ok I suck at this, but here goes. Isabella Swan is the Chicago book tycoon, and Edward Cullen is the literary prodigy that never wrote a second book. He is the wildness to her restraint, the spontaneity to her organization, and the answer to all the problems she never knew she had.**

**Author says:**

**I'm back! So soon you ask? Because this has been kicking around my head for a while. If you've read my first story, then be warned, this is going to be different. If you haven't, then welcome! I offer you treats in the form of sugar and nicotine patches.**

**All chapters of this story are going to be in the same format. We start with a flash-forward, then go back to the start of the story. Hopefully it won't be too confusing. The flash-forward will end when you see: ###**

**Let me know what you think of the first chapter, so I can get a feel for how much reception there may be for the rest of the story.**

**Enjoy!**

Happiness hit her like a train on a track  
Coming towards her, stuck still, no turning back  
She hid around corners and she hid under beds  
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled  
With every bubble, she sank with her drink  
And washed it away down the kitchen sink

The dog days are over  
The dog days are done  
The horses are coming  
So you better run

Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father  
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers  
Leave all your love and your learning behind  
You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

The dog days are over  
The dog days are done  
Can you hear the horses?  
'Cause here they come

And I never wanted anything from you  
Except everything you had and what was left after that too  
Happiness hit her like a bullet in the head  
Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that

The dog days are over  
The dog days are done  
Can you hear the horses?  
'Cause here they come

The dog days are over  
The dog days are done  
The horses are coming  
So you better run

_Florence and the Machine – The Dog Days Are Over_

Chapter the First – The Dog Days

"Will you marry me?"

We both stared at the small velvet box in horror, like it was going to jump up in some sort of Transformers moment and attack us both, go on a killing spree, destroy the world.

_What is he doing? What's happening to me? What is he _thinking_?_

I couldn't believe where we were. I couldn't believe what this meant.

He looked at me in a sort of strange wonder, and I don't know what he saw in my face but it made him smile. I smiled too, and just like that the horror was gone. We smiled at each other. Everything was going to be ok.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yeah, I think I will."

###

_August 8_

I woke up at four-thirty, like I always did. I did four miles on the treadmill. I made a power breakfast – oatmeal, wheat flakes, milk and orange juice, boiled eggs for protein – and called Alice. I called Dubai, Hong Kong and Moscow by six. I showered and had three espresso shots.

I dressed in the outfit I had penciled in earlier in the month for the eighth. My dress plan was always ready. It would be such a waste of time to stand around wondering what to wear when I had to get to the office. The eighth was a blood red Prada sailor dress under a gray Valentino waistcoat. Sergio Rossi pumps. Bvlgari tote. I put on my Baume & Mercier watch because it was my favorite.

I never did anything with my hair. I spent enough on my stylist once a month to get away without having to do anything time-consuming with it. I had my favorite Swarovski hairclip to keep it out of my eyes, and that was all I needed. Scooping up my Blackberry, my Nokia and my iPhone, I made my way to my car; my very expensive, very _fast_ car. This was almost always my favorite part of the day.

"Good morning, baby," I touched the hood of the Porsche Panamera gently. I was not a woman of extravagant tastes. My wardrobe was a necessary expense for someone in my position, meeting advisors, authors and retailers all day like I did. My house was relatively small for the upscale neighborhood I lived in. I never indulged in extended spa trips or mani-pedis every other day like Rosalie, or obsessively designed my house with priceless art and one-of-a-kind furniture sets like Alice. My indulgence was my car.

I loved it like it loved me. It purred at a touch and obeyed my every command almost before I made it. It was art on wheels.

I was at the office by seven, and Alice was looking bleary-eyed over a cup of coffee. "Morning, Ms. Swan."

"Good morning, Alice." She picked up a stack of messages and followed me into the office, taking my bag and handing me my chai.

"Random House called again, they're still having issues with the pre-orders we filed for them."

"Did you send Demetri to London?"

"He left an hour ago."

"Good. What else?"

"NAPCO wants to know about using our venue for the Literacy in India benefit."

"What does Felix think?"

"It's doable, but we'll have to make a donation of our own."

"Give them eighty thousand out of our European accounts. What else?"

We went through the morning ritual as I started up my computer and opened my inbox. Of course nothing important was awaiting my immediate attention, or my Blackberry would have beeped an alert, but that didn't mean I could ignore the emails that were pending my response.

After lunch there was a whirlwind of activity concerning the release of the new Sandra Brown. I wanted to land her first tour desperately, even though I dreaded dealing with authors that had made movies.

I was on the phone with her agent arguing signing deals when Alice knocked timidly on my door. "Ms. Swan, it's almost six."

I raised my eyebrows and motioned her to go ahead and leave. She chewed her lip, frowning in concentration and I sighed and wrapped up my call with the agent, promising to pick this up the next day. "I can manage without you if you have prior engagements, Ms. Brandon."

She shook her head. "You forgot."

"Forgot?" I never forgot.

"The gallery opening tonight. You said you'd come."

I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Is this really necessary?"

"You promised, Bella." She was giving me a wounded puppy expression and I rolled my eyes, disappointed she didn't know me better.

"I did. What time?"

"Seven."

I glanced at the clock. "I'll meet you there then."

"Aren't you going to go home and change?"

"You said this wasn't a set up."

"It isn't! I just thought you might want to dress up."

"I _am_ dressed up."

"Traffic hits in fifteen minutes."

"Oh for crying out loud," I growled, standing up and gathering my things as Alice squealed with delight and handed me my tote. I rolled my eyes again, and ignored her on the elevator, but she was looking too pleased with herself to be affected.

"I'm bringing Jenkin. You're going to love him."

"I doubt I will."

She gave a small squeak of indignation, but said nothing until we reached the basement parking lot. She asked if I knew where the gallery was and I waved away her offers for directions, eager to be back in my Panamera and remind myself of all the good things in my life that made it worth putting up with nuances like Alice.

I took the longest possible route to the gallery, looking especially for stretches of empty roads so I could shift gears and hear my baby growl beneath me. By the time I got to the gallery I was feeling ready to persevere, immediately grabbing a champagne flute and trying to mingle with the brainless zombies that floated around these events.

Within an hour I was sickeningly bored and had managed to trap myself into the longest conversation on Earth when Sam Uley caught me to talk about the new book his wife was writing, and he was sure if I passed it along to one of my publisher friends it would be big, and I looked fantastic by the way and would I like to call Emily later in the week to talk about it?

Through the grace of a phone call from his stockbroker, he released me and I wandered aimlessly around the gallery, killing time before I could say I had kept my promise and get the hell out of there. I wasn't really drinking so much as holding my champagne flute and occasionally wetting my lips. The champagne was quite atrocious. The artwork? Likely thrown together by a band of chimps on hallucinogens. The people? Godawful boring. Bankers and investors, lawyers and advertisers and suits in all shapes and sizes, every one of them here with some first-grade bimbo on their arm, the men toting around cookie cutouts of Paris Hilton, the women with their arms linked with some Don Juan pool boy that spoke no English. I would kill Alice later for dragging me down here.

I passed out tight smiles and small nods when I had to, mostly hoping that no one I recognized would come up to me to try to make another conversation. I hated these functions mostly because of the kind of mentally stunted money bags that attended them. I couldn't hold still for too long or I'd be inviting conversation. Navigating the gallery was like crawling through a minefield.

Michael Newton was talking about sports with some generic oil men. I skittered around that group in a hurry. Tanya Denali was enthralling some advertising bigwigs with stories of her trip to the Himalayas. I nearly ran by that one. Jacob Black was deep in conversation with a bored-looking Eric Yorkie about his newest car. I turned right around and went in the opposite direction of _that_ one.

All Alice had said to me was that there was someone that would be here that I would want to meet. She had sworn up and down on her life and on her favorite Gucci peep-toes that it wasn't a set up or a date, but I had remained unconvinced and was wondering again why I had let her talk me into this. As though thinking of her was a cue, she appeared by my side suddenly, her tiny hand on the elbow of a Don Juan of her own, tall and tan and wonderfully built. She chattered at him in something that may or may not have been Flemmish, and I rolled my eyes and turned away to try and make an escape.

Her steely little fingers were on my wrist, and I groaned in defeat. "Bella, have you met Jenkin?" I grimaced at the boy meat and held out my hand.

"Charmed, I'm sure."

He kissed my knuckles, smiling a dazzlingly stupid smile at me and I rolled my eyes some more. It was all just so _vulgar_.

"Alice, thank you again for your kind invitation to this event – I've had a wonderful time, but I think it's time I get going. Those twenty thousand books we ordered are grounded at Arizona because of that electrical storm and I need to find alternate means of shipment, so if you'll excuse me-"

"Bella, you'll _really_ want to meet this guy." I bit the inside of my cheek before I could retort to _that_.

"So you've claimed for the past three days. Now I came here because you bugged me into it, and I'm bored and would like to leave now. So if you'll excuse me-"

She gripped my wrist again while Jenkin looked around him with polite interest on his face. He might have understood English, or he might have been as stupid as he played at. I glared at Alice and waited for her to explain herself because I would really kill her later at this rate. "_Please,_ Bella, _please_.I promise you it's going to be worth your while, just please say you'll wait for him."

"Fine. I'll wait for another hour."

A grin split her face, and with a new level excitement she led Jenkin away towards where Jessica Stanley stood with a ridiculously over-groomed peacock of a man. Insufferable, really. Were these people really my friends?

I was staring in disbelief at a group of Irish collectors praising a twisted misshapen child's mobile as a statement on youth's insubordinance when I felt my entire body tingle with something akin to alarm. It was almost like I had suddenly been submerged in water, a heaviness on my skin making me feel anxious and uneasy. I was making my mind up on whether I should run or stand very still when I heard a voice speak over my shoulder, smooth and electric.

"They're so boring aren't they?"

I turned to look at the speaker, and unthinkingly my lips parted and I gasped. So quietly, I didn't think he heard.

The man's hair was the most unusual auburn, a coppery bronze that somehow didn't look like it came out of a tube though it almost certainly did, and his eyes were a glowing cat-like green that made me feel he could see directly into my soul. But as soon as I could collect my breath enough to look at anything else I noticed his chin and jaw were speckled with stubble, his suit wrinkled and too large so that it smothered his frame in a most unflattering fashion. He had worn a tie, but it hung loose around his neck. His shirt buttons were undone. His blazer was in need of a press. His hair! Untamed and wild and practically fire in the light of the gallery. And on his feet, he wore dirty sportswear, scruffy with the stitching coming undone in some places. He looked so thrown together, so _careless._ It was outrageous! He was staring at the Irish collectors with contempt. "How people voluntarily go to these things I'll never understand, it's downright criminal. DaVinci is sobbing in the heavens."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

He smiled at me, a crooked half-grin that had my heart racing in my chest, and I strictly scolded myself for letting some pretty eyes and a dazzling smile affect me like this. "No. But I know you. You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?"

I bit my lip, an old nervous habit from my childhood.

My nerves seemed to delight him and he continued. "Founder, owner and CEO of _Charlie's Books_. Started out in a little outlet in a small town in Washington reselling vintage copies of the classics and now running a highly successful multi-million dollar chain, if I'm not mistaken. You are 'driven, intelligent, and deceivingly young, with a passion for-"

"-all facets of literature and business', yes, I remember. _People_?"

"_The_ _Economist._" He smirked and I laughed, causing him to laugh as well, a sound like velvet being stretched over silk. I offered him my hand.

"It seems unfair that you would know all about me and I don't even know your name."

He took my hand and kissed the knuckles, and a jolt of electricity shot up my elbow. It was so intense I jerked my hand from his grip, and the look of surprise on his face told me he felt it, too. He eyed me as though reconsidering me, then smiled a cocky crooked smile that even greater women would have had trouble resisting. "Interesting."

"Edward."

I turned to the tall blond who had interrupted us, and immediately felt a sense of calm and ease. He was statuesque with his well-groomed curls and piercing blue eyes, looking for all intents and purposes like he had just thrown on the Armani suit that fit him like a glove. He had an air of confidence that teetered on arrogance, and a slow lazy smile that would send lesser women's hearts a-pattering.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your new friend?" He eyed me then, and his eyebrows rose in recognition.

"Jasper, this is Isabella Swan. Ms. Swan, my brother, Jasper Cullen. He owns the gallery."

Jasper took my knuckles and kissed them the way his brother had, and suddenly my mental faculties kicked in. "Cullen?" I turned again to the fire-haired man that had put me off and drawn me in simultaneously. "You're Edward Cullen?"

For a moment he seemed panicked, then his devil-may-care demeanor was back in full-force and he smiled. "You know of me?"

I swallowed then adopted my own attitude of indifference. "Pen-name Edward _Masen._ Author of _The Insipid Doctor_, initially a junior English class project, published at the age of nineteen. The book was overwhelmingly well-received, and Edward Masen was dubbed a literary prodigy. But there was no second book, and twelve years later, you, Mr. Cullen, are just as obscure as the rest of us." I smiled in triumph at his expression of reluctant respect.

"To be fair, _you_ are anything but obscure, Ms. Swan."

My heart raced but I nodded graciously and wet my lips again with the champagne flute. "Tell me, Mr. Cullen, what _has_ the greatest literary mind of our generation been doing for the past decade, then?"

The brothers exchanged looks, and Jasper smiled a calming smile at me. "Edward teaches high school English."

I caught Edward rolling his eyes, but he said nothing. "Is it as fulfilling as you had wanted your life to be?"

He opened his mouth to say something but we were interrupted when suddenly Alice's steely grip was on my wrist. "Ms. Swan, I see you've met Mr. Cullen."

I looked at her with disbelief. "Yes, I have, Alice." No way did little Alice Brandon, the most incompetent assistant of all time, manage to put this together. She had seen and commented on the display case in my office, but I never thought she truly understood how much _The Insipid Doctor_ had truly meant to me. It had been the first book I'd read that had been written since I was born that had truly touched me. I had written off modern fiction as superfluous and frivolous, and then Edward Masen had written something truly spectacular, and everything I thought I knew about books was changed forever. Could the little chatterbox have really known? Could she have possibly had the intelligence to know that _he_ would be here?

Jasper nodded at her, smiling at her, and I could practically see her heartrate accelerate. "You must be Ms. Brandon."

"Yes, we spoke on the phone," she answered breathlessly, and he kissed her knuckles as well.

We stood in awkward silence, and Alice seemed on the verge of bursting into the stratosphere. She was staring at Jasper Cullen with a strange intensity, and he was smiling at her with a confident arrogance. Watching them stare at one another felt almost like an intrusion, and even Jenkin frowned at them, perhaps resentful of the one who had stolen Alice's attention. I was about to make my excuses and leave when Edward cleared his throat, and I watched him warily as he extended his arm to me. "Will you walk with me, Ms. Swan?"

I nodded, handing Alice my champagne flute and slipping my hand into his elbow. Again that surge of electricity shot through me, and we walked silently, neither of us acknowledging it.

"You're a fan, I take it."

I wished I had my champagne flute on me, if just to buy time while doing something with my hands. "A fan of your book, yes."

He nodded, then turned to me with that crooked grin of his. "You must read hundreds of books. If you think so highly of mine I think that's high praise."

It was my turn to nod, and I again wished for something to do with my hands. "I'm sure a writer of your caliber has received higher praise."

"Whatever nice things critics had to say about my book, they were quick to take back when a second didn't follow." He did not sound bitter or angry, only amused and indifferent. I wondered if it was an act. "Of course, most of those critics were failed authors themselves, so I never took particular interest in their opinions one way or the other."

I wasn't sure how appropriate it would have been to respond to such a cutting remark, so I said nothing. We walked by some minimalist paintings and he paused to look them over.

"You want me to make an appearance. Do a signing. A meet and greet to impress all your friends and customers."

I clenched my jaw, counting back from ten to give myself time to calm. "I read _The Insipid Doctor_ several times over. I thought it was special. I was curious about the person behind the work. Furthermore, my assistant arranged this without my knowledge, so I assure you there is no ulterior motive to my admiration."

He chuckled, more of that velvet over silk sound. "I see. Are we going to discuss imagery and metaphor use now? Or should we skip right to the sex?"

I turned to him, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. I felt the heat rush my face and neck. "I _beg_ your pardon."

He looked at me with an amused expression on his face and eyed me with open appreciation. The way he undressed me with his eyes… so _crude._ Quickly extricating my hand from the crook of his elbow I wrapped my arms instinctively around myself and he chuckled some more. "Come on_._ You're not seriously playing that game, are you? It's classic fangirl symptom. You think I'm so brilliant and fantastic, it makes your head spin. Now I'm here, in the flesh, and let's face it, baby, I'm not disfigured or hideous in any shape, way or form. So let's make some nice and then get to the good stuff, shall we?"

I wanted to punch him, except I knew it wouldn't hurt him. I wanted to hurt him except I knew it wasn't _done_. It was inappropriate and unheard of and all sorts of wrong. I wanted to. I couldn't.

He watched my face for some time, then smiled knowingly, like he knew what I was thinking. "Interesting, indeed. You're very restrained, aren't you?"

I thrust my chin out at him. "You seem to confuse decorum with restraint." I looked him up and down again and felt myself vibrate with anger. Looking the way he looked it was no real surprise he was so vile. "I wouldn't expect someone like you to appreciate self-control."

He snorted. "Someone like me? I thought you were so impressed with someone like me."

"Clearly I was wrong. You disappoint in every sense, Mr. Cullen."

"And you are the most boring stiff in the room."

We glared at each other for a few silent seconds, him with his eyes laughing at me, and I was so infuriated with him. He reached out slowly and brushed some hair away from my forehead, and I felt another surge of electricity at the contact. He sighed, so I knew he felt it too.

"I will see you again, Isabella Swan."

With a stiff nod, I spun on my heel and went to the coat check, determined to be out of here and as far away from Edward Masen as possible.


	2. The Horses Are Coming

**Author disclaims: It just aint mine.**

**Author says: RaeCullen gets a shoutout for being my first reviewer. Have I mentioned lately how awesome you are, bb?**

Chapter the Second – The Horses Are Coming

"Bella, you didn't!"

I sighed. "I did, Alice."

She pouted and brandished the magazine at me, seeming at a loss for words. Rosalie snatched it from her and looked over the picture. "I can't believe you got married in a knee-length dress. What is this, a Guns n' Roses video?"

"Bella!" Alice grabbed the magazine to look at the picture again and wailed. "How could you do this to me?"

"What's the big deal? So I got married on a beach in Mexico. What did I do to _you_?"

Alice stared at me, her mouth opening and closing, her face changing color so fast I worried about her health. "You know I had plans for this! I was going to get a string quartet and an ice sculpture of a swan and purple geraniums and-"

"Alice..."

"Vera Wang was going to design an original _just for you._"

"Who cares about Vera Wang?"

She glared at me, the poor magazine crumpling in her deathgrip. "_I _care about Vera Wang."

"Oh shut up, Alice." She turned to Rosalie in shock and Rosalie rolled her eyes at her, taking the magazine back and pointing at the picture. "She actually looks _happy_ in the picture. You know, _happy_. Not upset or disappointed or embarrassed or fake. She doesn't seem to be suffering from the lack of flowers, quartets and ice sculptures. She was happy with the wedding the way it was. That's all that matters."

Alice blinked as though the thought had never occurred to her, then blushed in embarrassment.

"Congratularions, Bella."

"Thank you."

###

_August 11_

Alice Brandon was bouncing in her chair Monday morning, a look of intense concentration on her face. Her lips were moving rapidly, as though she were speaking to herself or rehearsing a speech. I cleared my throat and she squeaked, jumping to her feet and staring at me with wide eyes. "Ms. Swan. I was… I wanted to…" She blushed suddenly and I raised my eyebrows in question. Alice had never blushed in my presence before, and I had been under the impression she was incapable what with her rampant displays of unsightly habits. "Can we step into your office for a few minutes?"

I nodded, intrigued more than anything, and lead the way. Of course, my chai would not be ready, and I'd have to wait for Alice to finish her little speech before she could go get it for me. I made a note of checking my empty mug before sighing in disappointment and slipping off my blazer. She winced at the mug, picked it up and held it behind her back, still blushing and looking down at her feet.

"What seems to be the issue, Ms. Brandon?"

"I've been an employee here for some time, and I think my dedication and loyalty have been proven time and time again. There many things a good employee could do to-"

"Alice." The note of warning in my voice brought her up short and she swallowed and blushed some more.

"I need some time off."

I sighed in frustration. "Out of the question. It's the start of the academic year. Do you know what that means for us? It's the busiest season."

"But Ms. Swan, it's _direly_ important!"

"What could possibly be so important, Ms. Brandon?"

She looked up at me for the first time, and I was taken aback by the seriousness in her eyes. "I got married this weekend."

Though I knew it was unsightly, I couldn't help the slack-jawed expression of utter shock I knew I was wearing. "But how? And to whom?"

"Jasper Cullen."

And just like that, my jaw snapped shut and I rose from my chair. "Mary Alice Brandon. What kind of sick joke is this?"

She shook her head violently and dropped her gaze again. "It's no joke, Ms. Swan. I don't know how it happened. We just hit it off and we went out and we were talking about how badly all our past relationships have been and the next thing I knew he was proposing and we flew to Vegas and we wanted to stay there for a while but I told him I had to come back and ask you for time off because you know I wouldn't do anything to harm this company, I _love_ working here, but now I'm thinking I must have been insane at the time and what was I thinking to even-"

"Alice, is someone coming?"

She stared at me with a curious expression on her face. "No, Ms. Swan."

But I felt my entire body tingle with an electric current, and I knew someone – or some_thing_ – was coming, rapidly approaching my office door. Panicked, I stared down at my desk, sinking slowly back into my chair. What was this? This intense feeling of impending danger?

"Ms. Swan? Bella? Are you alright?"

I nodded mutely.

"Bella…" she paused and I looked at her, trying to reign in my clearly baseless senses. "How did you know he was Edward Cullen?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"At the gallery, I saw him come in and started looking for you so I could introduce you, but when I found you the two of you were already talking. How did you know it was him?"

"I thought you'd sent him to talk to me."

"You mean _he_ came to talk to _you_?" Her face was incredulous and I felt mildly offended. She hastily adjusted her expression. "I just meant, what are the odds? You know. It's unlikely is all." She swallowed and quickly averted her eyes, looking at my desk or her feet or my shelves, but never at me.

I was just about to tell her she could have her ridiculous time off when the sky split open and it rained farm animals when a precise knock sounded on my door. The electricity in my body was thrumming now, and Alice stared at me with disbelief. "Come in."

A head of auburn hair peaked into the office, a crooked grin and stunning green eyes. I felt my mouth open and close with shock, but had no time to recover before he was there, standing in my office in all his six-foot-something messy glory. "Ah, the restrained Ms. Swan. And," he eyed Alice with amusement, "my new sister."

Alice seemed torn between indignation and joy at the title, and Edward seemed to see it. He turned to me with an exaggerated bow and placed his hand on his heart. "My brother was worried your employer would be difficult, so I came to intercede on his behalf and yours."

I bristled. "That won't be necessary. I'm sure you hold no authority or influence over me."

"Oh but I do," he smirked, and removed from an inner pocket of his overcoat a rectangular object wrapped in a paper bag. A book. My eyes were trained on it, and a surge of desire sped through my veins.

"What's that?" I knew I had failed at sounding uninterested.

"My book. I believe you've read it, Ms. Swan?" He gestured meaningfully to the small display case in the corner of my office which held _Insipid Doctor_ memorabilia, including a signed first edition, a retracted release with a misprint in the dedication, and an annotated copy that had belonged to Don DeLillo. I swallowed and blushed, embarrassed at my blatant display of admiration for the work before the author. "Ms. Brandon may or may not have let it slip that what you most desire is a copy of my book signed personally to you. I may or may not have such an object in my possession. I may or may not give it to you, but then again, Alice may or may not have some time off."

I fumed. I stewed. I slumped in defeat. He had me, and he had known it from the moment he made his rude unannounced entrance. "I meant to give Ms. Brandon her time off with or without your little bribe," I lied, hoping to save some face. _I want that book_. "If you would like to _sell_ it to me, I would make a generous offer."

I reached into my top drawer for my checkbook and Mont Blanc pen and sat down as he watched on, amused. "Would you now?"

I glared, and the electric hum in my office made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. He was everywhere. I needed him to leave, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the small wrapped book in his hand for more than a few seconds at a time, and I followed its motions hungrily. "Name your price."

Alice seemed to sense the tension in the air and hastily thanked me before excusing herself to start her vacation straight away. She had no sooner slipped out the door than Edward sauntered up to the display case and smiled in almost absent recollection as he eyed my most prized possessions. "Very well, Ms. Swan. I want a date."

I shot up in outrage. "Have you lost your senses?"

"If it isn't worth it to you-"

"This is highly inappropriate!"

He threw his head back and laughed, velvet over silk, before walking over to sit on the edge of my desk and leaning in so close, I could _smell _him. Sandalwood and old spice, and stale cigarette smoke. It was strangely intoxicating. "I'm not asking you to sleep with me this time, though you are of course still very welcome to do so." He paused to eye me and I felt naked and vulnerable, though I refused to cross my arms over my chest like I so wanted to do. I wouldn't let him see how much he affected me, though his knowing smile told me he knew. "It's just a date. Dinner and a show. I'll pick you up at seven and have you home by eleven. I assure you I am delightful company."

"Ten thousand dollars," I whispered, hoping he would say yes and detesting the thought that he may want money more than he would want me. But everyone wanted money, and I had money in abundance. I wanted that book.

"Dinner. Show. Just the two of us."

"Fifty thousand."

He chuckled and shook his head.

I swallowed and looked at the surface of my desk, eighteenth century mahogany with a French finish, shipped from Lyon specifically for me. A gift from Isabel Allende. It had made me feel powerful and elegant. Now it did nothing for me. "Fine."

"Excellent!" He got up again, tucking the book back into his pocket and my hands twitched automatically in response. He saw the motion and smiled that crooked grin at me. Oh so deliberately, he picked up one of my business cards from the stack on my desk and pocketed it. "I'll call you soon, Ms. Swan."

And in a flurry of motion and fire-hair he was gone.

And I had a date.

And a small but traitorous part of me wondered what to wear.

The temp cried by lunch, and swore by the end of the work day that she would never ever come back 'not in a million zillion years'. She was even less competent than Alice, and more infuriating by a factor of ten at least. At least Alice was resilient, smiling through even my most cutting criticisms. The agency promised a more satisfactory temp for the next day.

At around eight I judged by my persistent migraine that it was time to go home. Rubbing my temple, I looked at my display. To have an autographed Edward Masen sitting there, personally dedicated to _me_. The thought alone made my heart race with satisfaction and achievement. Of course I already had an autographed copy – two in fact – signed simply _Edward Masen._ After achieving some success I had tried in vain to find him, to meet him, to watch him sign my name and give me the material thing I wanted most in the world. But he was notoriously under the radar, with nary a reading or a signing to his name in eleven years, almost as if he had fallen off the face of the earth. He was represented by some small legal firm and no agent, and buying the rights to his book had proven impossible. I had given up on the hope of meeting him, and so had everyone else after his prolonged silence. Most of the world had written him off as a one-hit wonder. The rest had figured he was just one of those authors. To have written such a literary masterpiece, and then _nothing._ I didn't know if I could have done the same in his place.

It had been a sore spot for me that no matter how much I had loved books I had never been much of a writer. My brain was strictly mathematical, with a tendency to anally organize everything. Creativity was not on my resume, nor would it ever be. Business, on the other hand, sales and budgets and charts and adjustments for inflation, disaster and stock market crashes, _that_ was my forte. A poor replacement, but one I had wielded well to get to where I was. And I _liked_ where I was, so why was I sitting here after hours lamenting the life I could not have had?

Sighing, I packed my things and shut down my computer. Alice had gotten me into this mess, but I would be getting my heart's greatest desire out of it. Perhaps she deserved that time off after all. Perhaps she deserved a raise.

I smiled at the security guard, and he tipped his hat and murmured a greeting as I got on the elevator. The ride to basement parking was eerie and I realized that though I'd worked late countless times before – practically every night without exception – I'd never taken the time to realize just how _empty_ everything was when I left. Even the cleaning staff was gone.

The thought was strangely depressing, and I walked more quickly to my car, anxious to be inside it and hear it purr again. It was the last car in the lot…

I stiffened and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a figure leaning against the door, and he lifted his head to smirk at me. I realized he must have heard my heels, and noted their abrupt stop. He drummed his fingers on the top of my car and smiled, and my eyes narrowed. "Ms. Swan. Took you long enough."

"Mr. Cullen, I wasn't aware we had an appointment," I said coldly, thrusting my chin up at him.

He chuckled, the sound echoing in the empty basement. "It's dangerous to be down here alone this late, isn't it?"

"It's downtown Chicago at eight, not el Barrio past two."

He made a mock serious face. "Regardless. You should have an escort."

I took the last few steps until I was standing just two feet away, but he was blocking my way to my car, looking languid as though, for all intents and purposes, he had no intention of moving. "Is there an ulterior motive to your pestering this time, Mr. Cullen?" I made my tone clipped, looking down my nose at him.

He smirked in amusement, the infuriating man. "Maybe. I was talking to an old friend of mine, who happened to have a friend, who happened to be a friend of yours."

I rolled my eyes. "You're reaching."

"True. I was talking to Jasper." I fought back a snarl. That little rat Alice was spilling about me, was she? The gossiping nitwit. "Charlie Swan. Your father, isn't he? He was the Police Chief in his hometown?"

"And?" I saw myself getting aggressively defensive but was helpless to stop it.

"You publicized the name _Charlie's Books_ as a reference to Charles Dickens. The vintage books you sold initially, they were of the time period. It fit. No one questioned it."

"What do you want to say, Mr. Cullen?"

He smirked some more, seemingly satisfied. "Nothing."

I glared at him. I would _kill_ Alice.

He seemed to read my mind and threw his head back to laugh, the sound haunting as it bounced around us, velvet over silk over velvet. "Why do you hide from the world?"

"What difference does it make to you?" I heard the hurt and anger in my voice, and I hated myself for it. How could he find just the things that made me act this way? All the chinks in my armor, all the weakest points in my strong business front. He found them and wheedled his way in, and I loathed him for it.

He took the two steps towards me, brushing my hair off my forehead again, sending lightning through my body. I found myself leaning into the touch without even thinking about it, and I was mortified by my behavior. His eyes softened and he smiled, a small sad smile that was so pitying I felt sick to my stomach. No one had looked at me like that since… "Good night, Isabella." He leant forward and chastely kissed my cheek, then took my hand and kissed my knuckles, the way he had when we first met. I listened to his footsteps recede, walk away from me, and I stood motionless for what felt like hours in that abandoned lot, feeling more alone and vulnerable than I had in years.


	3. You Better Run

**Author disclaims: It just aint mine.**

**Author says: This one is to those of you that've taken the time to review, even with just a sentence or two. You have no idea how much it means to me to see reader response. It makes the writing worthwhile every time, so thank you all, big time.**

**Special thanks to RaeCullen, who pimped me out like the piece of whore I am. You should all go read her story 'Angel Eyes'. That shit is good.**

"_The doctor had everything. He had a wife and good friends, and a thriving medical practice. The doctor had everything. He should have been happy."_

_-Edward Masen; "The Insipid Doctor"_

Chapter the Third – You Better Run

"Ms. Swan, I have to emphasize my disapproval of this decision."

"I understand, Ms. Clearwater, but my decision is final."

My attorney drummed her blood red claws against the desk, looking at me with impotent fury. "Ms. Swan, as I understand it you've only been married a few weeks."

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea what you're worth?" I sighed, leaning back in my chair and recrossing my legs. "Fifty-eight million dollars. Fifty-eight! A divorce settlement alone could ruin you, but _this-_"

"Ms. Clearwater, it's _final_!" I snapped, planting my hands firmly on the desk. She swallowed, seeming taken aback by my violent outburst. "My estate and my liquid assets all go to Edward Cullen. That's _it._ It is _my_ will and _that's_ what I want it to say."

She sighed, slumping in defeat before shuffling the paperwork and shaking her head. "Very well, Ms. Swan."

"Leah," I said gently, and she looked up at me, her eyes concerned and confused. "Who else would I leave it to? I have no one left in the world but him."

###

_August 15_

For five days I went through assistants faster than Shatner went through toupees, and for five days I was taunted by the silence of Edward Cullen. By day two I had to switch agencies because they stopped sending me temps. I called Alice in a near panic by day three, asking her when on earth she was coming back, and what on earth she was thinking. Her voicemail was very understanding. By day five, Rosalie Hale called and asked if it was true.

"Are you shnupping Edward Masen?"

I was torn between mortification and offense. "We don't all make a habit of 'shnupping' the industry, Rosalie."

She barked a laugh that sounded perfectly lovely. "Oh Bella, you never have any fun. It would be good for you to just get laid already." I rolled my eyes though she couldn't see me. "Come on, you have to admit it's a little strange. Your favorite author of all time waltzes into your life, and nothing happens? I heard he was gorgeous. You can tell me anything, Bella, I can keep a secret_._ Don't play coy with me, I _invented _coy."

"Excuse me for working with important people that I don't sexually pursue, Rose."

Rosalie laughed again, and the sound was melodious. I heard the distinct clink of what must have been expensive gold jewelry and knew she was admiring her spoils. "How do you know that's what I'm doing? I may very well love Royce."

No one could love Royce, not even his mother. Of course, it wasn't my place to say that to Rosalie, so I made a noncommittal sound instead.

"Will you come out for drinks tomorrow night? I haven't seen you in ages."

I thought about Edward. Did we have plans? He had never cemented anything. "I have some inventory to finish up tomorrow night. Let's take a rain check." Playing it safe had always proved to be the right choice in the past. Better leave my Saturday night free.

She chattered at me some more, about her plans for vacationing in Athens and how much she hoped Royce would get her that new BMW. I only pretended to listen, but it had always been enough for Rosalie to feign interest. I was 'oohing' and 'ahhing' over her description of the new boat when a knock at my door alerted me to a visitor. I glanced at the time. It was almost nine. While visitors at this time of night were not exactly common they weren't unheard of either.

I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and called out for whoever it was to enter. And Edward Masen strolled in like he owned the place. I gaped. What was _he_ doing here?

"Bella? Bella are you listening to me?"

"I'll have to call you back." I hung up quickly and rose from my chair, smoothing my dress in a nervous habit I recognized from my early days, pitching proposals to banks so they'd loan me the money to open the store. "Mr. Cullen. Was I supposed to be expecting you?"

He knew I wasn't, but I had hoped the subtle hint would give him pause. Instead he looked at me incredulously. "We had a date, remember?"

I clenched my jaw. "You never specified this evening."

He shrugged. "Wasn't it implied?"

I looked at the grandfather clock again. "It's past eight."

He looked puzzled and glanced at the clock. "And?"

I sighed with what I thought was infinite patience. "You said you'd pick me up by seven and have me home by eleven."

He rolled his eyes. "Are you always so particular?"

"I just think if you expect a person to comply with your wishes you should give them notice and be punctual."

He looked like he was fighting laughter. "Let's go, Ms. Swan. I wouldn't want you to miss curfew."

I was about to say something to put him in his place when he gestured meaningfully to his coat pocket. I looked at it, then looked at my display. To have it be complete…

I shut down my computer and packed my things, slinging my Armani blazer over my arm. It was getting cooler in the evenings, and the last thing I wanted was this man's messy worn coat on me under the pretext that I needed it there.

He held no doors open for me anywhere, not the office door nor the elevator door or even the door to the building. He walked around a silver Volvo, and I eyed it with disbelief. "This is what you drive?"

"Everywhere." He grinned and got in, and I opened the door on my side and did the same, hesitant, unsure and less comfortable than I'd been in an automobile since Charlie's cruiser. It smelled like fast food, and the floor beneath my feet was sticky. I felt a plastic container touch my ankle and flinched before trying to shove it under my seat without getting any of the sticky icky on my Gucci stilettos.

"Where are we going?"

He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers as he browsed through some CDs he had tossed under the armrest. "There's a great place next to my apartment that serves the best pizza in Chicago."

I looked at him in disbelief. "Pizza?"

"Don't tell me," he scoffed as he inserted a CD into the car stereo. "Ms. Swan doesn't eat pizza. Such peasant foodstuffs are beneath her."

I bit back another sharp retort. At this rate I would run out of patience with him very quickly.

The music started to play and I looked at him incredulously. "Did Alice tell you to play this?"

He looked at me strangely. "Why would she ask me to play you Herbie Hancock?"

I bit my lip. "No reason." Except that I loved classic jazz. And he couldn't possibly. Could he?

He pulled up to the ridiculous establishment and pulled up near the entrance.

"What now?"

He chuckled. "Ms. Swan, I beg of you, relax. Geez, are you always this uptight?"

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish. "I am _not_ uptight."

He laughed outright, stepping out of the car and flashing me his crooked grin. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." He winked at me, and I blushed reflexively, causing him to chuckle, the sound of velvet over silk electrifying in the small space of his filthy car. I bit my lip as I watched him walk up to the counter, greeting the employees as though he knew them all. They responded as though they knew him, and he looked so natural, so _at home_. I watched him, strangely fascinated, and he turned around to look at me and smile. I smiled back hesitantly. I could do this. I could enjoy myself on a date with this man, couldn't I? He was clever, quite brilliant actually if his writing was anything to go by, and Rosalie was right. He _was_ gorgeous, even if he did look like he'd just rolled out of bed. And he liked Herbie Hancock. That said a lot about a man.

I hazarded a peek into the backseat of his car. A pair of running shoes. A box of wide ruled notebooks. Two textbooks, and a novel. Hesitantly, I reached into the back and picked it up. Byron. Smiling to myself, I flipped it open. The pages were worn, the margins filled with notations, the back cover all but falling off. A teacher's book. With a sigh I put it back where I found it, pinching the bridge of my nose. What did I know about this man?

Nothing.

But I wanted to learn, if for no other reason than to help me understand the man behind the book. My thoughts were interrupted by his return. He tossed the order unceremoniously into my lap and shot me a smirk. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"_The Insipid Doctor_ is so intimate. It goes over and over the doctor's passion for order, planning and precision. It doesn't seem like you would write about things like that."

I gestured to his car, and Edward's face seemed to sag. "I suppose we're having this conversation now."

I bit my lip. "Excuse me, that was out of line. You don't have to talk about it."

"That book was about my father," he stated simply. "My father was a very controlled, proper man. He liked his world in order. If the book hadn't communicated that, then the character was not adequately presented."

"Your father?"

"When did you first read it?" He sounded only politely curious, but I knew better.

"High school. I must have been about sixteen, I think."

He smirked. "Your young impressionable mind was enraptured."

I shrugged and feigned indifference. "My best friend told me to read it. She knew I wasn't interested in contemporary fiction but she kept bugging me about it, so I read it. I thought it was a beautiful story but… pretentious."

He raised his eyebrows. "Pretentious? That's a first. I was always told it was quite eloquent."

"I didn't read past the first two or three chapters, and I kind of forgot about the book for a while. But I picked it back up again when I was a little older and it seemed less pretentious then. I found out later that the author was young, so I had mixed feelings about that. What do children really know about grown up things? I don't know. Every time I read it I felt something new, thought something new. Something about knowing that it hadn't been written by some middle-aged desperate man made it presumptuous yet excusable."

He rolled his eyes, but I saw the amusement in every line of his face. "So when did the book begin to mean something to you?"

I felt myself tense. It had been Charlie that had unwittingly done it. He'd bought me the book as a birthday present, the last gift he ever gave me. After what happened, the book kept me going, an escape I went to over and over where I felt connected to Charlie. The truth was, it had been easy to love, and I had been captivated by the doctor who seemed so much like my own father sometimes. But I couldn't tell him that. He didn't know me at all. "I admired your doctor," I said instead, and it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either.

He nodded, seeming to sense as much. "My father was an admirable man."

I bit my lip, hesitating. "He must have been very proud of you."

He smiled at me with gentle eyes. "He killed himself."

"Oh." I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok."

I stared out the window with unseeing eyes. For some reason this news disturbed me. I felt overwhelmingly saddened by it, and I had no idea why, but I knew that the good doctor had been important to me.

"My mother remarried very shortly afterwards, his best friend in fact. Carlisle has been like a father to me. That's why I took his name."

Ah. I had always thought Masen was just a penname he had utilized.

"Here we go."

I stared, my mouth open in shock. "Is this a _drive-in_?"

"Yep." He sounded overwhelmingly pleased with himself, and I ground my teeth.

"You're doing this to annoy me."

He turned innocent eyes at me. "Doing what?"

"Taking me on this ridiculous fifties teenage date! What next, split a shake at the local popshop?"

He threw his head back and laughed, a warm sound that tickled the soft hairs behind my ears and threw his arm across the back of my seat. "Isabella, you need to learn to relax and have a good time, just the good old fashioned way. I promise it won't hurt to try."

_You told yourself you could do this._

He brushed my shoulder with his fingertips, leaving a sparking trail of charged skin in his wake. The movie had already started, but it was a slasher film and really, it didn't matter. Everyone but the pretty girl and her boyfriend got sliced. Edward laughed whenever someone got slaughtered. I cringed but refused to speak a word, though by the time the fourth victim was mutilated I couldn't eat any more pizza. It was a shame, because it was in fact very good pizza.

At one point near the end the masked murderer jumped out of some sofa cushions and I jerked and squealed in surprise. He chuckled, his voice rich in humor and fun. "Don't be scared, Isabella, I'm here."

I blushed, not sure whether to be angry with him or laugh along with him. "I'm not scared, I was just surprised."

The hand that had only been tickling my shoulder up that point suddenly swept through my hair. My body pulsed with the motion, and my breathing became shallow as electric currents came alive in my body. "Why are you so afraid of being human?" He murmured it, so softly I barely heard him. I didn't think I was meant to hear it at all. With a soft sigh, he leaned in, so close his nose was in my hair, and I smelled him again. Sandalwood. Cigarettes. Old Spice. "I should take you back," he mumbled, almost reluctantly, and just like that he disappeared from around me, my senses bereft of his proximity.

The whole drive back, neither of us spoke a word, and even Dave Brubeck sounded forced and unnatural.

He took me back to the parking lot of my office, pulling into the empty space beside my car. I was surprised when he followed me to the driver's door, hands in his pockets, crooked grin making my stomach behave in strange ways.

"Thank you for the evening, Mr. Cullen." It was the polite thing to say, and the only thing I knew how to say.

He shrugged. "You had a miserable time."

Every bone in my body wanted me to disagree, for propriety's sake, but I kept my mouth shut and avoided his eyes. _You couldn't even do that much. You're a failure._

I was considering apologizing for my behavior when suddenly I was seized by a pair of powerful arms. His hands were strong and firm and large against my shoulders, and I was shocked into silence by his sudden closeness. I could smell him again, dizzying and undiluted, and the intensity of his gaze had me blushing. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" My voice was low and breathy and I didn't know why.

"Don't look away. If you're not looking at me I don't know what you're thinking. Why do you always hide what you're really thinking?"

I didn't know what to say.

And suddenly, abruptly, his lips were on mine, harsh and unkind and bruisingly needy, and I gasped. He took advantage and ran the tip of his tongue between my parted lips, emitting a low growl of approval that had me whimpering. He tasted like iced tea and pepperoni and testosterone on a hot summer day. I felt his hands tangle in my hair, and a part of me worried that he was ruining it while the other parts of me reeled in disbelief and ached for more. _This isn't me._

With a cry of outrage I pushed against his chest, and he released my lips reluctantly, his hands slipping away and leaving me feeling cold and distant. Unthinkingly, I slapped him, catching his chin and his jaw, and hurting my palm so that it stung. His face was set in determination.

Before I said anything improper, before he did anything else indecent, I yanked open my car door and locked myself in, starting the engine and backing out of my space without looking at him. I drove away knowing that if I saw him, I might turn around and let him kiss me again.

Of course, I had no one I could talk to, not really. No one that would listen to me describe the strange aching sensation of loss that seemed to follow me home, no matter how fast I drove. And I drove a Panamera. I drove _fast._ Alice was away, but even if she hadn't been, I couldn't possibly discuss anything serious with the girl. She was Rosalie's cousin, and though we loosely considered ourselves friends we knew we had nothing in common except the name _Charlie's Books_ printed on our business cards.

And there was Rosalie.

Rosalie and I had been roommates after I graduated high school. She'd attended classes, mostly cruising for wealthy brats while I sank my life savings and all of Charlie's insurance money into the store. She used her contacts to help me. When I bought a second outlet less than a year later, effectively turning _Charlie's Books_ into a franchise, Rosalie had invited all her chic friends to the opening and made it a big deal. When I had made my first million she had gotten me in with a lawyer, an accountant and a personal fitness trainer, all of whom she trusted implicitly. When I had gone public, she had cajoled, threatened and sexed everyone that mattered into buying stock. She'd hired the designer for my five story flagship store. She'd almost singlehandedly brought about my success. She had talked me off the ledge when Zadie Smith and Erika Lopez nearly came to blows at a fundraiser. Rosalie had been key in everything. When whoever she happened to be sleeping with at the time dumped her she was always welcome at my house. When she needed a new wardrobe or a new hairstyle or a new car, she came to me. We were friends. But we weren't _friends_.

Of course, the only person I could talk to was Charlie.

I pulled up to the intimidating structure, parking in some surgeon's spot and taking deep breaths. It never got easier to visit Charlie. As I went in the nurse looked up, about to turn me away until she saw who it was. I smiled at her, and she nodded in greeting. I had no visiting hours.

I knew my way to the elevator, and I knew which floor he was in. I knew which suite they had set him up in, and I knew my way to the side of his bed in the dark. It was late. The lights were out. The hospital was eerie this time of night.

"Hey, Dad." I took his hand, limp and unmoving, and squeezed his fingers. The beeping of the machines was constant, soothing yet strangely aggravating. It was a constant reminder of where I was, and what Charlie had been reduced to. A series of sounds and signals on a bunch of machines. "Good news, we got to pick up that outlet in Dubai. We outbid Kinukuniya by so much, we have a standing priority now in most GCC countries." The machines beeped. I chattered on about business. I told him all about the launch plans I had for the new Philippa Gregory and outlined my plans to have an annual Harry Potter event. Even to my own ears I was boring and repetitive and so _fake._ The realization halted me mid-sentence, and I sighed, squeezing Charlie's hand for strength.

"I met someone." I was mildly surprised by how it came out, but I persevered. "He wrote that book you bought me that birthday, remember? Edward Masen? The really young one?" Like he would respond. "Alice set it up somehow. I'm not sure how. And she married his brother! Just like that, Dad!" I sighed, massaging his palm. "He took me out on a date tonight. Edward, the writer, not the brother. It was so surreal. Pizza and a scary movie at the drive-in, can you believe it? Nothing French or fancy about the entire evening." I thought about the kiss and blushed. Well, _almost_ nothing French. "I don't date, you know that, Daddy. But I never minded that I didn't before. I was ok with being on my own. I have my work and it's very important to me. It just suddenly feels really repetitive. Like everything in my planner is insignificant or something. It feels like I missed the point on this one, Charlie."

I sighed into the silence and resisted the urge for a cigarette. I had quit three years ago, and was not looking to start again now. Not over Edward Cullen.

"I miss you, Dad."

It was barely a whisper, but I told myself he heard me as I sat in the silence, willing myself to hear a response in the automated sounds of his coma.


	4. She Hid Under Desks

**Author disclaims: It just aint mine.**

**Author says: This took longer than I wanted to come out, so you know – **_**oops. **_**It was difficult to write, and honestly I wish I could just skip to the next chapter already, but this is kinda important to get to that other bit.**

**As always special thanks to those of you that take the time to review, because that shit just makes me feel good about myself, which gets me writing and posting faster. Seriously, you don't wanna be around during the crippling obsessiveness I get before posting. Ahem. Anyway.**

**Here goes nothing.**

"_The good doctor was insipid. So insipid, in fact, that most people never knew how truly good he was."_

_-Edward Masen, 'The Insipid Doctor'_

Chapter the Fourth – She Hid Under Desks

"Bella?"

I looked up from my book, setting aside my reading glasses and smiling at the figure standing in the doorway to my home office. "I'm sorry, love. Did I wake you?"

He stepped into the circle of lamplight, smiling back as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. "No, I just woke up and missed you. What're you doing up so late?"

I held out my arms to him and he came to me, leaning over me to nuzzle my cheek, covering my hands with his own when I put them on his face. "I couldn't sleep." He hummed an acknowledgement, trailing kisses down my neck and I sighed in contentment, melting into his touch and the feel of his lips.

He chuckled, velvet over silk making my skin tighten and tingle. He knew exactly the kind of effect he had on me. "I love you, Bella." The words should have been sweet, but they came out cocky, and I groaned and pushed at his chest half-heartedly. He caught my hands and gripped them tightly, trapping them against my chest and growling playfully. "Say it."

He pulled back to look down at me, his hand running gently through my hair. I looked at him, my heart swelling with emotion, wondering how it could be that he would love me when I myself barely knew what that meant. I wasn't certain who I was anymore, I wasn't certain of anything about myself. But I was certain of one thing. "I love you too, Edward."

###

_August 16_

Drinks with Rosalie was always such an _affair._ I had picked her up at Royce's penthouse, because her car was at the shop 'getting some oil checked or water changed or whatever', and she'd made me wait for thirty minutes as she debated the merits of hair up versus hair down. She'd put it up, then in the car took it back down. Typical Rosalie behavior, though I found myself strangely impatient with it.

We pulled up to my favorite piano bar, and I growled a warning to the valet that if my baby came back with a scratch on it, I would personally see to terminating his employment, casually dropping in that I had the numbers on the odometer memorized, and I had already calculated the figures for what they _should_ be when he brought it back. Rosalie rolled her eyes, smirking at me in a knowing way that I wasn't sure I liked before linking her arm through mine and pulling me to our usual table, ordering two apple martinis as we passed the bar.

I downed mine instantly, shaking my head a little at the rush and motioning at the waiter for another. Rosalie drained half her glass, took one look at my empty one and narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously. "What gives, Bella? Spill."

I shrugged, taking a large gulp of my fresh drink to avoid talking and Rosalie snorted. Somehow, it came out sexy.

"Is this about that writer guy?"

I groaned, putting my drink down a little harder than necessary. "No, nothing's wrong."

"I didn't say something was wrong."

"Well then stop looking at me like that." Her expression changed a little, and I saw suddenly that it wasn't curiosity on her face, it was concern. She was just worried about me.

"I don't know, Rose. It feels off. Something's wrong with my life and I just can't put a finger on it, ok?"

She looked at me with open shock, her expression irritating me even more and I pinched the bridge of my nose. "But you love your store, and you're so _good_ at what you do. Royce says you're part business-shark part world's-greatest-publicist, and I'm inclined to agree."

Of course she would think there was something wrong with the store. My life _was_ the store, what else would she think was wrong if I told her something was off? The realization made me snippy. "How shocking, you agree with Royce," I snapped, knowing I was being entirely unreasonable. A week ago I would have found that description complimentary.

"Bella, I'm serious." I looked at her and saw that she actually seemed to be. She was frowning, which she never did because she claimed it gave her wrinkles. "You always said that as long as the store was thriving, _you_ were thriving. And the store _is_ thriving. Isn't it? Is this about that Indian book?"

I snorted, finishing my martini and snapping my fingers for another one. "It's not about the Indian book. It's not about work at all. At least, I don't think so. I mean, work is great, the store has never done better."

She looked blank for a moment, then smirked again. "So if it isn't business it's personal. Could it be? Isabella 'the Barracuda' Swan actually got herself a personal life?"

I scowled. "I have a personal life."

"Oh please." She rolled her eyes and gestured to herself. "This is the most action you've gotten since that creep _James._"

It annoyed me how knowingly she said it, how condescendingly. Slightly enraged and likely getting rapidly drunk from my speedy consumption, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: the truth. "That's not true. I had a date last night."

She choked on her martini, coughing and slapping her bare chest, for once not sounding attractive at all as her eye bugged out of her head and she stared at me. "You had a _what_?"

Oh boy. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Oh no you don't!" She reached over and gripped my hand, sniffing it suspiciously. "You're not smoking again, so you didn't have sex."

I snatched my hand from her grip, looking at her in horror. "Rosalie Lillian Hale!"

"Who the hell was it and why the fuck didn't you tell me sooner?" She looked hurt, and I groaned at her childlike behavior.

"It's no one you know. It was just one date and it's not happening again."

She pouted, vexed, then narrowed her eyes. "It's that writer, isn't it? Oh my God, you really _are_ shnupping Edward Masen."

"I'm not shnupping anybody."

"But you _did_ go out with him. Oh my God this is _huge._"

"Nothing is huge, it was just one date."

She huffed, sitting back and eyeing me as though seeing me for the first time. "So you went out on this date, and you feel weird about your life all of a sudden?"

I shrugged, twirling the swivel stick around my glass and avoiding her eyes. I didn't like where she was going with this at all. "It's not all of a sudden actually. It's just something that's been building for a while. Like I'm overlooking a very important point. I get this feeling of déjà vu, like everything I'm doing I've already done before. And when I'm on the treadmill in the morning, it feels like I'm running and running and not going anywhere, or my car isn't going fast enough, or something – I don't know. Something isn't right." I glared angrily at my drink, tossing it down my throat and calling out for another one, knowing I was drinking too fast and not believing I'd actually spoken so much to Rosalie about anything that wasn't Rosalie. When the new drink came, I downed that one as well, gripping the waiter's sleeve and asking for another before he could go too far when Rosalie put her hand on my forearm.

"I think that's enough, Bella." She sounded cautious, surprised, and genuinely concerned. I couldn't look at her.

"No, Rose. It isn't enough."

_August 17_

I groaned, rolling over in my bed only to feel my palm smack against flesh. _Oh dear God._ My fingers groped blindly for a hint to the identity of my bed partner, dread coursing through me so thickly, it overpowered the nausea of my hangover. My hand came into contact with soft curls, and I whimpered. Either I'd taken to bed a very effeminate man or I'd slept with a girl. I cracked an eye open, sighing with relief when I found it was just Rosalie. She grunted in her sleep, smacking my hand away and I winced. She was strong, I had to give her that.

Grimacing in discomfort, I slipped my feet onto the floor, untangling myself from my sheets and pulling down the hem of my dress, which had found its way to my underarms. I stumbled to the bathroom, gripping the sink for balance as I locked myself in, groping blindly in my medicine cabinet for an Advil or six.

In an hour I was showered and dressed, looking over the release calendar for September and gripping my spinning head as I tried to focus on what I was looking at despite the incessant drumming behind my lids. I had called and arranged to pick up my car, having been too intoxicated to drive the night before, and was waiting for Rosalie to wake up so I could go get my baby. In the meantime, I hoped to get some work done, knowing it had always been a kind refuge in the past but feeling strangely rejected all of a sudden.

Rosalie stumbled in after a while, disheveled and messy and looking exactly like a model who had been made up to look like she was hung over. She groaned when she saw me working, throwing herself down into one of the leather chairs facing me and propping her feet up on the edge of my desk, popping her toes loudly. I winced, giving her a disapproving look because she knew I hated the sound of bone popping, and she smirked because she knew what I was thinking.

"Put that shit down, Bella. We need to talk."

I sighed, putting my work down and folding my hands over it, patiently awaiting Rosalie's imminent interrogation.

"What's wrong?"

I was surprised by the tenderness in her voice, and looked up to see her smiling affectionately at me. I swallowed the inexplicable lump in my throat, clearing it and blinking away the sudden blurriness. "Nothing's wrong."

She rolled her eyes and dropped her feet. "Bullshit. You can't lie to me, Bella. I'm not one of your fucking authors." She leaned forward, her expression earnest. "I think it's time you faced the fact that you might not be as happy as you'd like to think."

I scoffed. "Why on earth would I be unhappy?"

Her eyes darkened, and she smiled sadly at me. "Why on earth wouldn't you be?"

I sighed again, shuffling through the papers on my desk because of all the conversations I didn't want to have this morning, this one topped the list.

"How's Charlie doing?"

I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Same."

"Bella, it's been ten years." I nodded, shuffling some more. "Bella?" Reluctantly, I looked at her. "Don't you think it's time to let go?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, shaking my head against the spinning room. "You don't understand, Rose. It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?" she sounded like a petulant child, and I saw so clearly the continuation of the argument, a repetition of so many arguments that had come before. It was pointless to argue again. "You can't do this shit forever, you know."

I slammed my palm on the desk, and a piece of paper went flying to the side, fluttering noisily to the floor. "Why not?" I threw her words back at her.

"Because it's not living!"

I groaned, standing up and shaking my head at her, frustrated and tired and struggling with the crushing weight of her words. Like I needed that on top of the way I was already feeling. Like I needed one more thing to make me feel like the life I was living for the past ten years was just some silly overreaction, a futile act of unnecessary redemption. "This discussion is over."

Rosalie shot up to her feet, planting her hands on her hips. "Like hell it is."

"Rose-"

"You're not Renee, Bella. Charlie knew that, and he would have wanted you to move on." I stared at her, outraged and mortified and humiliated and devastated that she would actually bring _her_ into this. She shook her head, massaging her temple and biting her lip. "I'm sorry, that was out of line." I nodded, unable to speak. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't true." Avoiding my eyes, she turned around to leave, pausing at the office door and turning around to throw a vapid smile at me. "I'll call you next weekend. We can go to dinner!" Rosalie Hale, flighty social-climber, was back in full force, and I smiled weakly and nodded before she left.

I heard the door to the apartment close after a moment, and I dropped into my chair with a soft thud. Rosalie had watched me fold in on myself after Charlie's _accident._ She had seen me change before her very eyes. I put my head in my hands again, growling in frustration and lamenting my fate. Charlie knew I wasn't Renee. Of course he did. I was her complete opposite - Renee had lived life to the fullest. I had achieved great success in life without having to live it at all. I already knew I was nothing like her.

_So what are you trying to prove?_

I wasn't trying to _prove _anything. After ten years living a certain life, I wasn't sure I wanted anything else. No, that wasn't right. I wasn't sure I was _capable_ of anything else, that I'd be good at the alternative. I was good at what I did. I was good at being me, and I never took for granted the specific minute details of what constituted _me._ If I lost them...

_What will I lose?_

Myself.

_It's too much._

_It's not enough._


	5. She Killed It With Kisses

**Author disclaims: It aint mine.**

**Author says: I've entered the Les Femmes Noires contest being hosted here:**

**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2043851/**

**My entry is found here:**

**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5367898/1/Twentythree_Seconds**

**Rae held my hand, because I was my usual psychotically obsessive self, and she was her usual awesome, fucking loving self. BB – you is the best lifepartner a girl could ask for. Please check it out and leave me some love.**

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"_Never was the doctor's face so alive as it was when he came home to his loving wife. For her, he always made the time."_

_-Edward Masen; "The Insipid Doctor"_

Chapter the Fifth – She Killed It With Kisses

"Edward, please, I don't have time for this now." I sighed, feeling my heart race at the sound of his bemused laughter as he ran his tongue up my neck. Velvet over silk indeed. I never tired of that sound.

"Then _make_ the time, baby." His hand found its way up my blouse and I groaned, knowing the battle was lost.

"Edward…"

"Shhh. What's the big fucking rush, anyway?"

And suddenly, I couldn't really remember what the big fucking rush was anyway. I gripped his hair, bringing his mouth to mine and made the time for my husband.

###

* * *

_August 18_

I woke up at four-thirty, like I always did. I did four miles on the treadmill and pulled a muscle. I made a power breakfast – oatmeal, wheat flakes, milk and orange juice, boiled eggs for protein. I showered and had three espresso shots. I fought away the crushing sense of loss, wondering what was different today of all days.

I dressed in the outfit I had penciled in earlier in the month for the eighteenth. A pale yellow Fendi three-piece skirt suit with a Ferregamo silk shirt underneath. Manolo Blahniks. My Hermes Birkin. My favorite hairclip and my favorite watch.

My _car_.

None of it cheered me. I sat at my desk, wondering why I was letting myself get mired down by this inexplicable depression when it clearly served no purpose but to distract me from working to the best of my ability. My temp was incapable of answering phones. Vikas Swarup wouldn't return my calls. The office's internet provider shut down for two and a half hours in the middle of the afternoon. It was just agony, and when it overwhelmed me I felt myself floating, suspended in the vacuum of near-submission that had been the end of so many great business men and women.

And right before the call came, I felt it. Electric whispers across my skin, leaving trails of gooseflesh in their wake. I looked at the office door expectantly, swallowing thickly to find my voice. "Ms. Swan, there's an Edward Cullen here to see you." The temp sounded breathless over the intercom and I made a silent note to myself to make her cry within the hour. The unprofessional cow.

"Send him right in."

The door opened almost cautiously and he stepped inside. "Is it bad timing?" His cat-green eyes were so intense, and the question seemed loaded.

"Please, come in and have a seat."

I leaned back in my chair, watching him warily as he stepped into my office, glancing surreptitiously at the display case in the corner. "I won't stay long." He sounded oddly formal, strained, and there was none of the amusement and twinkle I had always seen in his eyes. He was holding the wrapped book, seeming uncomfortable with it, and placed it softly on the edge of my desk, tapping it absently with his fingers. All his nails were clean and short. It made me smile. "You forgot your book."

I nodded, and he smiled slightly, shaking his head as though at a private joke. He unwrapped it and held it up to show me, and my heart quickened at the mere sight of it. He put it down on the desk, picked up my gold-plated fountain pen – a gift from Margaret Atwood – and opened to the title page, looking at me. He took a deep breath, as though about to say something, then shook his head again and began to write. I resisted the urge to stand up and peek, to see what he would write to me. Would there be a note? Best wishes? Thank you? All the best? Or just his name?

He smiled dimly as he capped the pen, shutting the book and rewrapping it carefully. "I hope I won't see this on eBay next week."

I smiled a little. "Not in a million years."

He looked up at me and chuckled. "I suppose not." Glancing at the display, he put the book back on the desk, tapping it again with his short, clean fingernails. "You are a strange and captivating woman, Isabella. You know that?"

"Captivating?" I had never been called that. Charming, confident, intelligent to a fault, but never captivating.

"Among other things, yes." He smiled a little, some of that amusement shining again in his eyes when he turned back to look at me. "Captivating and insincere. And extremely beautiful." I blushed, and his smile widened. It was like he saw a completely different person. _This isn't me. Is it?_ "I wanted to tell you that I had a good time on Friday. I really did enjoy your company, even though there was no sex." He winked slyly at me and I fought not to drop my gaze, trying to ignore the way the heat that had flooded my face was now settling in my ears. "And also, I don't make a habit of dating. Not women like you, anyway. I know you didn't want to go out with me, that you just did it for this-" tap, tap, "-but I'm glad you did anyway." He frowned, seeming to struggle with himself for a moment. "I guess that's all."

"You're not going to apologize for your… overzealous behavior at the end of the night?"

He looked puzzled, then surprised before throwing his head back to laugh. My toes curled at the sound. "For the kiss? No of course not. You aren't sorry about it either, so spare me the manners speech."

I stood up abruptly, gasping in outrage. "You are the most insolent, arrogant, intolerable-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He sighed, circling around my desk with a predatory gleam in his eye, smirking like he knew what he was looking at and he liked it abundantly. "Ms. Swan, Isabella. May I call you Isabella?" A shudder ran through my body as he circled behind me, standing so close I could feel his breath on the back of my head. He chuckled, a little darkly, deliberately bringing his hand up to sweep my hair over my shoulder.

_What's happening to me?_

_What is this?_

_Why am I letting him do this?_

_What's he even _doing_?_

"Isabella," he breathed, husky and warm and incredibly suggestive, lowering his head so his breath ghosted over my neck and shoulder. It was ragged, shallow despite his unwavering voice. "You liked it when I kissed you, didn't you? You enjoyed it? Maybe the reason you're mad isn't because I kissed you at all." He brought his lips even closer, and I felt them brush against the shell of my ear, fogging my senses as my breathing became even more ragged than his. "The reason you're angry is because I didn't ask permission." He pressed his lips to the spot right behind my ear, and I half moaned half gasped, catching the edge of the desk to keep my knees from buckling. He chuckled again, trailing more soft kisses down the length of my neck.

_Stop him!_

With the last of my willpower, I turned around, slowly, and put my hand on his chest, pushing weakly against him. I looked up into his eyes, and they were dark, menacing, nothing catlike about them – they were animalistic. "I… Mr. Cullen…"

He covered my hand with his, took a step towards me, and I automatically took a step back. He growled, smirking again, his eyes locked onto my lips. I licked them nervously, and his eyes darkened even more. "I think you can call me Edward now," he barely whispered, leaning impossibly close. I tried to take another step back but his other hand reached out and gripped the back of my neck, cradling my head and angling it up towards him. He pressed his lips to mine and I moaned again, my entire body catching fire as the electric hum exploded into a thermodynamic impossibility. My head swirled, my brain fogged, and I sagged against him, all but falling against his chest as my knees finally gave out and I threw myself at Edward Cullen's chest and lips.

I should have been angry at him for last night. I should have been cold and unfeeling. He was just so…

I clutched his collar, grabbed at his neck and shoulders and finally his hair, and he growled in surprise and approval, his hands large and warm and rough and everywhere, on my shoulders and on my hips, and then rubbing up my thigh and lifting my skirt, and I moaned, low and vibrating and _what am I doing?_

_Make me forget._

_Make it better._

_Make it ok._

_Make my life mean something again._

He gasped into my mouth, panting for breath and pushing me up against my desk. I lifted a leg to wrap around his waist, devouring every inch of skin I could reach. His neck, his jaw, his face, I showered them with kisses as he shuddered and gripped my thighs. Tight. Release. Tight. Release. The rhythm was enchanting.

He gasped suddenly, pulling away and putting his hands on my face, smiling at me, dreamy, distant, breathtakingly beautiful. "Disarming," he murmured, brushing his lips softly against my nose and my forehead and my cheeks. He sounded awestruck. I blushed. "I'll call you, Isabella."

He dropped his hands, running his fingers through his hair and laughing to himself in some sort of strange euphoria, shaking his head and looking at me with wonder as he left the office. I watched him go, then stood where he had left me, feeling as though the world had swept me away in a current, and I was just realizing it. I touched my lips where he had just been, licking them to taste him still lingering. Enchanting. Beautiful. _Disarming_. Suddenly the feeling of his proximity was gone, and the tingling went away, and I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head, barely managing to stagger to my chair.

_What are you doing? Are you insane?_

_You lost your mind._

_What's happening to me?_

* * *

_August 19_

I couldn't sleep. It was past eleven and I couldn't sleep. _Good Lord, what's happening to me?_

The structured order of my life had always been a comfort, a routine to minimize needless thinking and maximize production. If I lost it…

_What will I lose?_

A rapidly rising business? A calm contentment about my life? A sense of accomplishment?

It was useless. I threw the covers off my legs and glared at my ceiling clock. Eleven-twenty-eight. Oh impulse I threw on a plain white t-shirt and some comfortable jeans – Emporio, but _so_ comfortable – and my running shoes, then picked up the small wrapped book that was all I could touch of Edward Cullen. With new determination, I grabbed a bottle of water and went out to my garage. Seeing my Panamera nestled comfortably for the night didn't give me pleasure. It made me feel strangely… overwhelmed. Ignoring my baseless feelings I drove with a purpose, obeying traffic laws and rolling down my windows to stave off the exhausted nausea that was seeping in. This was more than just aberration from my routine. This was utter annihilation.

At the hospital I smiled at the receptionist, and she raised her eyebrows in curiosity but said nothing else as I made the familiar way to Charlie's suite. The beeping of the machines was so comfortingly familiar, I had to stop and take several deep breaths at the doorway before I went in to take my usual seat by his side. I sat down, patting his hand and smiling at him in the dark. "Hey, Dad."

Making trivial conversation about my day and my business felt trite – because it always was about my business, never anything personal since nothing personal ever happened to me that wasn't business-related. Taking another deep breath, I unwrapped the book and opened to the front.

_Isabella,_

_Go out with me again._

_Edward Masen_

He wanted to go out with me again. The bewitching man, who likely could have charmed his way into many a willing woman's bed, wanted to go out with _me._ I had been insufferable, and rude, and I had hit him for something that I had partaken in. I bit my lip. I couldn't think on it too much, I would save that bombshell for better days.

I flipped a few pages ahead, then cleared my throat, glancing up at the doorway to make sure I was alone, and began. "Chapter One – The Doctor's Wife. Dr. Philip Reage was a quiet man, often taking to his study for scotch and solitary reflection when he was home from long days at work. His wife, however, saw him differently, and in her eyes…" As I read to Charlie from my favorite book, I felt peace, and that tingling sensation of being submerged in water. I fell into the story, enraptured as though I'd never read it before, bringing back to life the poor insipid doctor that had meant so much to me as a young girl. It was a strange mixture of fitting and inappropriate to read it to Charlie, who had never been interested in reading anything more than the paper or the TV guide, but with no more fishing trips, I knew he must have been bored.

The sun came up, and it was well past five before I stopped reading, putting my head down on the bed and squeezing Charlie's lifeless hand, intending on only resting my eyes and my voice for a moment.

I breathed the clean scent of the bedding, thinking on the good doctor and the man who had inspired him, dead. He had left behind a loving wife, and it would appear, a small son who had been so attached to the memory of his father that he had written him into immortality. The book was beautiful. The man was beautiful. _Edward… _he was beautiful, too.

"Ms. Swan. Ms. Swan!"

I jerked, feeling knots in my shoulders and neck howl in protest and winced, opening sticky eyes to take in my surroundings. The hospital. Oh God. Oh God! I shot up out of the chair, startling the nurse that had been trying to wake me. "What time is it?"

The nurse looked nervously away. "It's a little past ten."

Oh _God_! I raced past her, skidding to a stop at the doorway to run back, pick up the book and kiss Charlie's forehead goodbye, then launching myself through the doors. I furiously punched the button for the elevator, firmly reminding myself that logically speaking it was _not_ taking years for the elevator to arrive and it would still be faster than taking the stairs six flights down. Would it?

With a groan I palmed my face, trying to calm myself. It happened to everybody, didn't it? So what if I was a little late to work? The elevator was still dinging when I was already on it and violently persuading it to go back down. Slower than I thought possible, it took me back to the lobby, my feet setting a nervous drumline to Kenny G (I _hated_ Kenny G).

I was through the lobby, out the door and halfway into my car before the elevator door even opened all the way, fumbling with the ignition and reaching for the purse I'd left under the passenger seat. Fishing out my blackberry with only one eye on morning traffic, I groaned. Eight missed calls. _Eight._

I dialed the office and was shocked to hear Alice's voice. "Isabella Swan's office, how may I help you?"

"Alice, I'm on the way to the office _right now._"

She sighed with relief. "Bella, where are you? The office thinks you're dead."

I snorted, because I knew she was only half-joking. "I overslept. Listen, is my Donna Karen still in my office closet?"

"Of course." She sounded puzzled.

"Have it ready for me." I had a pair of Valentino slingbacks in my trunk, in case I ever broke a heel, so I was covered there, as well. "Did anyone call?"

"Swarup's agent."

"Are you fucking _kidding _me?"

"No, Ms. Swan." She sounded alarmed. I groaned, tapping the steering wheel nervously and craving a cigarette.

"Don't worry about it, I'll be there in under three minutes. Have the suit in my office and bring your phones and all my messages with you. Wait for me in there."

"Yes, Ms. Swan."

"And Alice," I took a deep breath, relaxing as I got closer and closer to the office.

"Yes, Ms. Swan?"

"Welcome back."

"Thanks." I heard her smile in her voice and hung up before I managed to say anything else to embarrass us both.

I was in my parking space in three minutes twenty-five seconds, and in my office fifty-two seconds later. Alice was sitting in the chair across from my desk, tapping her pen nervously against the legal pad in her lap, her knee bouncing uncontrollably.

"You're late," she smirked at me, and I rolled my eyes as I dropped my shoes, my purse, my keys and Edward's book on the desk to pick up the steaming cup of chai Alice had prepared for me. Bless her I'd missed her so much. "Jeez, Bella, what happened while I was gone?"

I sighed and met Alice's concerned gaze as she took in my rumpled appearance. "I just overslept, Alice. That's all."

She raised an eyebrow. "At someone else's place?"

I bit the inside of my cheek and gave her a look that clearly asked her to drop the matter and she rolled her eyes as she got up to hand me my suit. "I told Swarup's guy you were in the middle of a conference call. He sounded a little unhappy, but you know how these agents can get."

I nodded as I dropped my jeans and t-shirt, pulling on the comforting blue slacks with a sigh. I was feeling more like myself already. "We'll send them something. A framed promotional poster with a plaque or something, I don't know."

Alice nodded, handing me my blazer. "I'll throw together a goodies basket."

I buttoned the blazer as high up as it would go, seeing as how I didn't have a shirt on me. It showed a little more bust than I normally liked, but it would have to do. I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling out my small makeup case from my purse. "Any word on Sandra Brown?"

Alice bit her lip, hanging up my purse and placing my shoes next to my feet. "No, nothing yet, but I thought we needed to talk a little bit about the Swan Ball."

I sighed, tossing my eyeliner back in the case and handing it to Alice, making my way to my desk chair for the toothbrush I kept there. "Do we have to?"

"It's less than a month away, Bella." I pouted. I knew I was being a child, and Alice knew it too. "Take a minute in the bathroom, we'll talk when you're done."

I stomped to the small bathroom just outside the office. Alice and I shared it, and it was by far the cleanest bathroom in the building. It only had a toilet and a sink with a small mirror hung over it, but it served its purpose well enough, and I rarely used it for anything besides the necessities.

Feeling infinitely better though I dreaded the conversation to come, I walked back into my office, settling myself down in my chair so Alice and I could get to work. I opened my mouth to speak but frowned when I saw her staring intently at the book Edward had signed for me. "Bella is there something you want to share with me?"

I felt my face go red as she giggled, pushing the book across the desk at me and tapping her perfectly manicured nail over the elegant script. I slammed it shut. I didn't need to read the words again. They swirled in my head like some siren song.

_Go out with me again._

Alice was grinning at me like the cat that swallowed the canary. "So. You went out with Edward."

I shrugged, avoiding her eyes.

When it was clear I would say no more she sighed with exasperation, rolling her eyes at me. "And?"

"Nothing. It was horrible."

Alice sighed, shaking her head. "Bella, you went out on a _date._ That's extraordinary."

"I go on dates all the time," I defended, a little offended at Alice's insinuation.

"Drinks with Jacob Black does _not_ qualify as a date."

"Jacob Black represents some of the most sought-after writers in the country."

She rolled her eyes. "My point exactly. It's nice to go out with someone with _no ulterior motive_. Just for fun. Remember fun?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. Alice didn't know all the details of this date. Of course she would think it was for fun. "About the Swan Ball…"

"Oh come on! You're so desperate to change the subject you'd actually bring up the Swan Ball?"

"Ms. Brandon, please, this issue with Edward Cullen is moot. I am _not_ going out with him again."

She frowned. "I think you should."

"Why on earth would I want to do something like that?"

She sighed, and suddenly there was a distant glazed-over look in her eyes, and the strangest of smiles. She was practically radiant, I realized. "Because you can't ever be truly happy alone."

"What?" She was surely joking.

"Bella, Jasper is everything I always wanted though I never knew. It was like he was waiting for me his whole life, and we complete each other now."

Good God! "You're still married?!"

She frowned at me, coming back to the present. "Of course we're still married. We're in _love._"

Oh boy. This would be a slippery slope. "Alice, I couldn't be more thrilled that you're back, but…"

She blinked at me, that same distant look in her eyes. She looked so _dopey._ Was she on drugs? Taking anti-depressants? _Pregnant_? "Oh, Bella it was phenomenal. I never knew you could be so… that it would be so… that he was just so…" She sighed, her eyes glazing over and I snapped the pencil I'd been twirling in irritation. I hated when smitten people spoke in sentence fragments.

"Alice, this is insane. I fully expected you to be back with an annulment and a lesson learned. How could you possibly think this is a good idea? Your _wedding_ was an impulse decision based heavily on loneliness, desperation, and I suspect – to a dangerous extent – hormones and pheromones. No _marriage_ can last on such foundations. Trust me."

Alice looked at me, her expression disappointed, then pitying, and finally settling on determined. She rolled back her shoulders and stood up, as tall as her four-foot-ten frame allowed, looking at me down her nose. I raised a brow in amusement. I had taught her to do that. "Ms. Swan, it's really very kind of you to be so concerned. But everything is under control, and seeing as how it has no bearing on my work, it really isn't any of your business."

I looked at her, stunned. Sure, I hadn't been under the impression that Alice and I were very close, but she had never spoken to me so coldly before. Even when we'd met, she'd been a whirlwind of excitement and friendliness, and not once had she actually _looked down_ at me like I was some stubborn child to be disciplined. Speechless, I nodded, and she pursed her lips and did the same, sitting stiffly back in the chair across from me.

"The Swan Ball needs a charitable organization to focus on this year, so I've compiled a list of…"

I went on autopilot, only exerting the most basic of effort into listening and contributing to Alice's efforts. She was all business, clearly still hurt at my words – a clear sign that they held truth and a fair share of merit in them – and there was little for me to do except approve everything she suggested. Alice was in her element with this event planning stuff. She had lists of jazz bands and dozens of my favorite songs for them to play, a decorating theme and a designer that would send a dress and a seamstress within the week and a color scheme based on said dress and a guestlist and a seating chart and a dozen chefs that would throw together a tasting by next week and really, all I needed to do was write some checks and show up.

About two hours later, she finally picked up her things, coolly asking me if I needed anything. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as she started for the door. "Alice."

She stopped but didn't turn around to look at me.

"I'm sorry for hurting your feelings. You're right, your personal life is your own, I suppose I was just concerned for you." It was the right thing to do.

Alice turned to look at me then, and I saw her eyes weren't angry or forgiving or even hurt. They were sad. Pitying. Why was I getting that expression from _everyone_ lately it seemed? "Ms. Swan, you and I have been working together for how long now?"

I thought. "Five years in November."

"How many boyfriends have you had in that time?"

Oh boy. I had to think again. "One."

"Dates that were non-business-related?"

I cringed. "Three."

Alice nodded, her dark eyes sympathetic. "Don't you think a beautiful, successful, intelligent woman should have had more than one boyfriend and three dates in five years?"

I had no response, and Alice didn't seem to need one. She sighed, smiling weakly at me and leaving my office, closing the door softly behind her. It was worse than if she'd actually slammed it. I sat stunned in my chair and thought over her words. I guess it was a little dismal when she put it that way. But I was just focused on my career. Was that so bad? She couldn't fault me for being hard-working. No one could. She had said that no one could be truly happy alone. But I wasn't alone, I had Rosalie and Charlie. Right?

_Be honest with yourself._

I didn't even have a pet, because there was no room in my life for a pet. I had no love life because I had no energy to spare for one. I had no friends because I had no time. No room, no energy, no time. Strung together like that they sounded like things you _made_, not things you _had_. _I should have made the time…_

Reluctantly, I called Swarup's agent and went through the motions of apologizing for missing his call, assuring him his client was a priority to me, brown-nosing my way back into his good graces so that at least something could go right. My Blackberry beeped an alert at some point, and I wrapped up the call as humbly and politely as I could. It took almost ten minutes to finally get him off the phone, and I read my alert tiredly. As I opened the email from Random House I shot up out of my seat, my eyes widening as I read it again. _They couldn't! They wouldn't dare._

"Alice!"

There was some scrambling noise from behind the door, and then Alice burst in looking alarmed. "What is it?"

"Is Demetri still in London?"

"Yes, his flight back leaves tonight."

"Cancel it. Tell him to take his ass back to Random House _now._" I sat down and Alice typed furiously on her Blackberry, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. The reason I had shipped Demetri there in the first place was to make sure we filled the pre-order requests for that damned Dan Brown book. September fifteenth was just around the corner, and we needed them so close to now it was ridiculous. And now this. "Barnes and Noble is announcing a sneak peak. Dan Brown himself will give a reading at a press conference there on _September_ _thirteenth._" Alice's jaw dropped and she looked at me with an expression of horror. Good. She understood the gravity of the situation then. "I want Sonny Mehta on the phone _now_, Alice! Can you manage that or would it deplete your last remaining brain cells to carry out such a daunting task?"

She nodded, my insulting tone and demeaning words sliding off her like water, and raced back to her desk to pull up what she could find on the event. I slammed my fist on my desk, biting back the howl of frustration that was building continuously in my chest, threatening to shatter the last remnants of the life I had known. I wasn't blind, I felt it more surely than I'd felt anything in years, slipping through my tightening grasp on reality. It was falling apart, and I had no idea how to stop it, to go back to the contentment of the life and order I had always taken refuge in before.

Shaking my head, I took deep calming breaths, buzzing Alice to ask her to get me someone from legal. I had a crisis to handle. That needed to be taken care of first, before anything else.

_I just don't have the time._


	6. And From It She Fled

**Author disclaims: It aint mine. And also…**

**I mention books and authors often in this fic. I guess it's because I'm anal about details like that, so there you have it. All the authors and books Bella talks about in regards to her business are real, so in addition to NOT owning Twilight or anything to do with Twilight, I don't own any of the books mentioned in this and all other chapters of this fic. Also, the authors (and agent) I mention should be aware (like they're gonna slum and read this) that the opinions expressed by my characters do not reflect my own, and that it's just fun and no one needs to get hurt.**

**Author says: I don't usually (ever) do this, but I'm rec'ing a fic. Bratty-Vamp wrote "Toye", and it is possibly THE BEST vamp fic EVER. Go, now, read it before you even read this chapter – it's THAT GOOD. It can be found here:**

http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5343457/1/

**As always thanks to Rae, who married me and now has to reread everything I write before I post it or my head explodes. She doesn't even call me names when I get drunk instead of write. She's an angel, and a superhero that doesn't wear her underwear over her tights (or does she? I don't know and I don't judge). I heart you, bb. ^^**

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"_All the parts that had been his life suddenly ceased to hold meaning, and the doctor felt lost, alone, and utterly defeated."_

_-Edward Masen; "The Insipid Doctor"_

Chapter the Sixth – And From It She Fled

"What made you want to marry me?" he asked, stroking my hair.

We lay in our bed, curled up against one another watching _Casablanca _for the millionth time. I shrugged, leaning into his touch and humming in pleasure. "Your impeccable manners."

He chuckled, and I could hear the rumbling in his chest as he tugged playfully on the strand of hair between his fingers. "And here I thought it was the great sex." I slapped him lightly in the chest, and he caught my hand in his and held it over his heart. "Tell me."

I looked up at him, his green eyes filled with wonder and curiosity, and I smiled. "You were the only person to realize how badly I needed a TV in my room."

And I knew he understood.

###

* * *

_August 20_

I tapped my pen against the side of my keyboard, rereading the email that snake Mehta had sent. He was practically gloating, the insufferable oaf. Sighing, I sat up and pinched the bridge of my nose, shaking my head a little to clear it. It was too exhausting right now and the taste of failure was so bitter in my mouth, I felt sick. I looked again at the copy of the contract I'd managed to obtain, rereading it in case the legal department missed anything. They'd been over it with a fine-tooth comb, and the chances of them actually having missed something were slim to none, but I couldn't let go and accept it. Not yet. It would mean too much to just…

There was a knock on the door and I sat back in annoyance. "Come in," I snapped, tossing my pen down on the desk, welcoming the interruption nearly as much as I loathed it.

Alice stepped in, her eyes wide and sympathetic. "Would you like some lunch, Ms. Swan?" Dear, sweet, helpful as ever Alice.

"Not particularly, no."

She sighed, exasperated. "You have to eat."

"I'll eat when I bust this."

"Bella." Like I was some disobedient child…

"Anything will do."

She nodded, offering a weak smile before slipping out and closing the door quietly behind her, like she was afraid the noise would make me snap. _She's probably right. I've snapped at her for less._

My vision was swimming with exhaustion, and I groaned, shaking my head to clear it again. I hadn't been able to sleep much. For too many nights I hadn't been able to sleep right at all, and it was taking its toll on me. This disaster couldn't have come at a worse time. My phone rang suddenly, and I jumped, gasping in alarm. I was so fixated on what I was doing and how miserable the situation appeared; I'd lost focus for a minute.

Rosalie. I took a deep breath and answered, wanting to get it over with.

"Bella, guess what! Royce proposed!"

I dropped the phone, wincing as it bounced off the desk and onto the imported Persian rug. I groaned, crouching to retrieve it and banged my head against the edge of the desk on my way up. I whimpered, blinking away the tears that had formed on impact and heard Rosalie's excited squealing through the phone. She hadn't even noticed in her excitement.

"-everything I imagined it would be! Oh Bella, you have to see the ring, it's so beautiful. Four carats, can you believe it?"

"That sounds wonderful, Rosalie." I swallowed. Gingerly rubbing the spot where my head had made love to the desk.

"We're going out to dinner to celebrate this Friday at seven. We're going to _Le Papillon_. Alice is coming with that new husband of hers, and of course I expect you to be there."

"Alice?" And her husband? And his brother?

"Yeah, I just got off the phone with her. Oh Bella, it's amazing! I can't believe this is happening to me, this is like a fairytale."

Her voice was so overwhelmingly happy, and I was being a poor friend because I couldn't seem to muster the enthusiasm I knew this occasion called for. "I'm so happy for you." _Liar._ I wasn't happy for her. I was furious with her, for her horrible mode of operation and her self-centered approach to life, how easily it all came to her when she never gave of herself or tried too hard, or stayed up all night filing tax returns, or even cared about anything outside her reflection long enough to actually _achieve_ anything, and yet she had it. She was happy. She had nothing and she was fulfilled.

"Thanks. Wow. I still can't believe it sometimes."

My intercom buzzed, a welcome way out and I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I have to go, I really do have a lot on my hands right now. Friday at seven, ok?" _What's wrong with you?_

_Why are you so emotional?_

_This is absurd, there's no room for emotions in the real world._

"Oh sure. Call me later and I'll tell you all the details!" The line went dead just as my intercom buzzed again. I gripped the roots of my hair, staring dumbly at the door. _Pull it together! _I pressed the button. "Yes, Ms. Brandon."

"There's a phone call on line three, University of Chicago Hospital."

I could hear the puzzlement in her voice, and mentally cursed whoever it was that called my office instead of my direct line. Groaning I picked up the phone. On top of everything else, the hospital had to call now? "Isabella Swan speaking."

"Ms. Swan, this is Dr. Volturi. I'm in charge of your father's care here at U of C."

He sounded bored. I hated him already. "Is everything alright with my father, Dr. Volturi?" _Is he dead?_ I bit my tongue to stave the outburst I felt coiling up my throat, like a deadly column of poison on the verge of escaping my body to infect my life.

"Stable, if that's what you mean. There haven't been any significant changes since your last visit-" he rustled some papers, "-two nights ago. However there is a slight abnormality in his vitals this morning."

I frowned. "Yes?"

"His blood pressure was a little higher than we'd normally see in coma patients, and his heart rate was slightly erratic later in the afternoon. I took the liberty of running some tests, and we've mapped the location of the foreign object-"

"Dr. Volturi, layman terms please."

"Right." He paused, clearing his throat. "The bullet is migrating again."

_What?_ It couldn't be. That bullet hadn't moved in years. "That's not possible, it hasn't moved in years."

"That may be true, but the swelling in his brain has been keeping it in place. It seems that for whatever reason it's gone down in the past few months, and the bullet shards have found more room to maneuver through his arteries."

I gripped my pen to still my trembling hand. "What does that mean?"

There was a moment of loaded silence, then the bored voice came back. "In his condition your father wouldn't survive a surgical procedure to remove it. There really is nothing we can do."

"What does that mean?" I repeated dumbly, feeling my careful guard against the poison slip.

"That it's only a matter of time, Ms. Swan."

I blinked back tears. _Charlie._

"My records show that he's been in a vegetative state for well over ten years now. Given the circumstances, it's probably for the best if he is allowed to pass on peacefully."

"Are you asking me to pull the plug?" I heard the cold rage in my voice and apparently, he heard it, too.

"I'm merely suggesting-"

"That I kill my last remaining kin. Thank you for your expert opinion, Dr. Volturi, but until he breathes his last breath all on his own, my father is staying in your hospital and in that room of his, where I paid you to put him, and let the name of your newest research facility be a reminder of that."

I hung up, furious and devastated and intent on not thinking about it. I wouldn't think about it. Dr. Volturi was clearly incompetent, I would fly in a specialist to give a second opinion. And then I would have his license revoked.

_Just breathe. If you focus on deep, calming breaths, you'll get through this the way you always do. Remember: this is what you've always worked for._

"Bella!"

I looked up, startled to see Alice standing in the doorway, her eyes wide and frightened. _What now?_

"Demetri has been in a car accident. He's being taken to the hospital in London right now."

My thoughts of course should have been for his safety. For his wellbeing. Would he make it? Was it serious? Was there lasting damage? But none of these was the question in my mind. Alice seemed to read it on my face, and she cleared her throat and dropped her gaze, clearly embarrassed by my insensitivity. "He was on the way to Random House. Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to speak with them before the accident."

I groaned, dropping my head on my forearms, suddenly overwhelmed and feeling sick to my stomach.

_You've failed._

_You failed the Swan Ball._

_You failed all the customers with the preorders._

_You failed Demetri._

_You even failed Charlie…_

I felt the panic rise in me, that poison, that snaky column of despair wrapping itself around my throat and cutting off my air supply. I was breathing too quickly, my breaths too shallow, my brain suddenly hazy from lack of oxygen.

_Deep calming breaths…_

But I was past it, past the point of no return, clinging to my composure by a thread.

_I need to get out._

I stood up so abruptly, my chair toppled over behind me, and Alice yelped and jumped, staring at me with equal parts curiosity and fear. "Alice, call our source in Germany."

"Germany?" I watched as realization crossed her features, then dismay. "Oh Bella, no!"

"Tell him I need fifty – no make it seventy-five boxes of the usual, and I need it by tonight."

"Bella, don't drown this in German chocolate. Let me help!"

I slammed my fists on my desk, out of control and totally outraged, behaving so appallingly I would have been ashamed if I'd had any wits left about me, but I didn't. _I need to get out! _"Dammit, get me my _Shogotten_ and get it to me immediately, now, I want to see dust from you moving so fast to get it done!"

Alice stamped her little foot in helpless frustration before turning around and slamming the door loudly behind her. Swallowing the thick lump in my throat, I grabbed my purse and some paperwork and swept out of the office. It was ridiculously early, but I couldn't function anymore. I was exhausted, feeling utterly drained and knowing I was reaching my limit. The panic clung to my neck and shoulders, and I hunched them to try and beat it back, long enough to get away and fall apart somewhere else, somewhere I wouldn't fail anyone else.

Alice knew I only ever binged on chocolates when I was approaching the vast pit of despair that had swallowed many a thriving young woman before me. She watched me as I walked past her desk, but said nothing though I knew she wanted to. But I couldn't listen to her, not to her pity or her sympathy or her stern insistence that I needed to get back to work. She let me go, and for that I was more grateful than I would ever express to her. She understood I needed it. Other women had ice cream and romantic movies to indulge in when they felt defeated. Some even took to drink or prescriptions or illegal substances. I had my German strawberry-yogurt chocolates.

And even as I thought it, I felt how pathetically little it was, how inadequate and lacking.

I sat in my car, thumping my forehead against the steering wheel and thinking rapidly as I tried to regain my breath. I dreaded the echoing emptiness of my penthouse residence. I would go to the hospital. Feeling comforted by the fact that I had a chosen destination, I took a few deep breaths and started the car, driving in sheer panic the whole way because I knew it was conditions like these that caused accidents. As soon as I arrived, I all but ran into the building, in the frantic frame of mind of my twenty-year-old self. I bit my lip to swallow a whimper when I saw him, lying in the hospital bed in broad daylight, something I didn't see him often in. He looked impossibly small, even more lifeless and empty in the harsh sunlight flooding the room through the large bay windows. I had chosen this room for its exposure, but now I hated it. Did it have to be so harsh?

I almost stumbled to his bedside, sitting in the chair I always sat in and taking his hand, and as soon as I touched his cold soft skin, I burst into tears. I sobbed and sobbed, my hysterics reaching a crescendo of utter defeat, the tears coming on so quickly and so violently I knew it would be pointless to try and wipe them away or fight them back. I let them take their course, wordlessly channeling the bitter failures of my life to the one person in the world I wanted to listen to me, yet the only person who never could. After hours or minutes or days, the sobs subsided, giving way to silent tears that while equally humbling were slightly more dignified. I almost collapsed, resting my head on the bed beside him and closing my eyes against the too-difficult world. I wanted to speak, to excuse my weakness and defend myself, but knew it was an act in futility. He couldn't hear me.

I lay there until the sun moved low over the horizon, then until the sky was a deep purple, not really sleeping, but not really awake. My brain was oddly quiet, buzzing intermittently with the thoughts I wouldn't allow myself because it was too much for me now, and I needed to pretend it didn't exist. I matched my breathing to Charlie's, feeling my pulse harmonize with the beeping of the monitors. If it was a little more erratic than it had been before, so was mine.

Finally, when the sun was gone and the city lights illuminated the window, I sat up, pressing a soft kiss to Charlie's forehead and squeezing his hand before getting up to go. I was numb, but at least I wasn't floundering anymore. At least I could finally give up.

* * *

_August 21_

I woke up at six. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to summon the energy to leave my gazillion thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and face the relentless harshness of the world. I had been on top. I had slipped. I didn't know how to get back.

I was a failure.

My head was pounding and I knew if I didn't get my three espresso shots soon I'd be suffering a horrible caffeine headache. Yet I still couldn't find the strength to move.

My phone rang again, the tone alerting me it was Alice. She was probably frantic by this point, having to deal with the maelstrom of inconvenience at the office. I knew it should have been me dealing with it, that it wasn't her responsibility and that I should have been there. I always was there before, and under worse pressure. I had faced the most grueling week of my life in the days surrounding the release of the final Harry Potter book. I had turned to the _Shogotten_ then as well, but I had been back at the office extra early the next day, and I had put out all the fires that needed to be put out, coming out the other side exhausted, stretched to the limit, but utterly successful.

_I'm a failure._

I couldn't even answer the phone. What kind of pathetic weakling was I if I couldn't even face my responsibilities?

_A pathetic _failure_ weakling._

Groaning I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow and waiting for the world to move on without me. I didn't want to try. I didn't want to fight anymore. I just wanted to wallow in all the years I would never have back, the fruit of those years collapsing around my head. Because that was what was happening. I knew better than to believe the financial department for a second.

If Dan Brown had his little press conference on the same day as the Swan Ball, turn out would be close to nil for us. Donors would drift away. Media coverage would wane. Demetri's inability to secure sufficient stock for the preorders would enrage customers. Buyers would flock to competing stores. We'd be forced to reimburse thousands of them. The store would be set back hundreds of thousands, millions of dollars. And since I wasn't there to do damage control, to try and find a cushion to reduce that figure, the store would sink. We'd lose money fast. We might not recover.

_Stupid stupid failure._

I drifted in and out of sleep, jerking awake when my phone would ring yet refusing to move. My caffeine headache set in, and my stomach growled in protest. I dreamt of sinking in an inky black sea, calmly and quietly drifting to the ocean floor as the currents raged around me.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

My eyes snapped open and I stared, dumbstruck, at the unkempt man standing over me. _In my bedroom._ "Am I dreaming?"

He snorted, rolling his eyes and plopping himself on the edge of my bed, shooing me to the side and picking up one of my phones. "You're not dreaming. Sixteen missed calls?"

I clutched the covers to my chin, horrified. "What are you doing in my room? How did you get in here?" My voice was rising in panic and he chuckled, leaning forward and picking something up from the floor.

"Alice gave me the emergency key, sent me over here to make sure you hadn't killed yourself or something. Apparently you don't do this often."

I buried my face under the covers. "Leave me alone. I just want to be left alone."

"Isabella," his voice was muffled by the bedding and I felt a light tug against it. "I had to use up a personal day to come here and check on you, so allow me the pleasure of at least seeing you while you throw me out."

_Look at what a failure you are. You failed yourself, threw Alice to the sharks and disrupted the life of an innocent bystander._

"So how many of these did you eat?"

I peeked out from under the covers to see what he was referring to. He waved an empty box of chocolates and I sighed, sitting up a little in bed. "A lot."

"I can see that." He looked over the room, and I realized the empty boxes were everywhere, the floor littered in crumpled aluminum foil and pink packaging. "Want some coffee?"

I nodded, bringing my knees up to my chin and curling myself into a ball. He smiled a lopsided smile at me and got up, kicking through the mess and muttering to himself. As soon as he was out of the room I threw myself out of bed, stumbling a little and falling against the bathroom door, wincing at the monstrous headache that had invaded my day. Faster than I thought possible, I washed my face, brushed my teeth and ran a brush through my hair. My eyes were puffy and swollen from oversleeping, but I couldn't do anything about that now. I quietly opened the bathroom door, checked to see if the coast was clear and raced back into my bed when I found it so.

_You're acting like a foolish child._

Perhaps, but I felt slightly better. Edward came into the room, carrying a _Charlie's Books_ mug and frowning at the contents. "I don't know how you take your coffee," he muttered, handing me the mug with a petulant expression on his face.

I stared down at it, pale brown with milk, and likely loaded with sugar. I didn't have the heart to tell him I always took my coffee black. "This is perfect," I lied, forcing a smile and taking a hesitant sip.

He was watching me suspiciously, looking unconvinced, before he sighed and shook his head, sitting on the edge of the bed again. He picked up my book – _his_ book, signed just for me – and flipped through the pages aimlessly. "You're reading it again."

He sounded a little unhappy about it, so I shrugged. "It's been a while since the last time I read it."

He nodded, frowning lightly. "Is this where you are? At the part where he delivers the baby?"

I smiled and nodded, sipping more coffee. "It's my favorite part."

He smirked a little, looking at me strangely. "You got my message I guess."

Immediately and with no warning, I blushed, my cheeks flaming with heat. I put my head down a little, hoping my hair would cover it, and he laughed softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I'll take that as a yes."

The velvet-over-silk quality of his voice made my skin break out in goose bumps, and I wrapped the covers around myself and hoped he wouldn't notice. "I'm flattered, but-"

"My brother and his new bride are attending some sort of dinner celebration this Friday. He said you would be there as well, that it was for a good friend of yours. I'd like to escort you as your date." I looked up at him, shocked at his politeness. He seemed to read my expression and rolled his eyes. "Please don't look so surprised, it's kind of insulting."

"I didn't mean to imply-"

"I know. But you seem to severely underestimate me, Ms. Swan." His eyes were amused, as though he knew a secret he was waiting for me to figure out. My phone rang and I winced, causing him to raise his eyebrows at me. I looked away and refused to meet his gaze, certain that if I didn't look at him he'd leave me alone and let it go. Of course I was wrong, and he reached over and took the phone in his hand, sighing. "Yes, Alice." He looked at me accusingly as Alice verbally attacked him on the line, her high soprano audible to me. "She's alive, I promise, but she looks like she needs some down time. Why don't you go ahead and shut down operations for a day." My eyes widened in alarm at the thought. _Shut down operations? For a whole day?_ "She'll survive, I'm sure," he responded dryly, hanging up and giving me an exasperated look. "You are such a workaholic."

I frowned and gulped down the rest of the sickeningly sweet coffee, but said nothing because it was true, and I had no rebuttal.

"What do you do for fun?"

"I'm a busy woman."

"So nothing?"

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't have to." He looked around my room, frowning. "Don't you have a TV or something? A DVD player?"

"In the gym. I watch TV when I get on the treadmill."

"Why don't you have a TV here?"

"Why would I have a TV here? Bedrooms are for sleeping, hence the descriptive name. You know, _bed-room._"

"I assure you, Isabella, bedrooms are for many many things. Sleeping is just the end result of whatever you do there."

I blushed, furious with his lack of manners, but too embarrassed – and suddenly too aware of where we were – to say anything in response.

He rolled his eyes, but he was smirking again. "So you watch TV while you run on the treadmill. You probably have one of those telephone headsets, don't you? To make phone calls?" I pouted and he smirked wider. "You only watch the news, of course. CNN."

"BBC."

"Ah." He smirked at me, and I threw myself back into my pillows and turned around so I wasn't looking at him anymore. "You're very upset about this whole Dan Brown thing?"

I shrugged. "It's a disaster."

"The guy is a prick."

I looked at him suspiciously. "Jealous?"

"Hardly." He rolled his eyes. "I just don't get the big fuss. Besides, writers that get movies made for their books are insufferable."

I smiled in spite of myself. "I think so too."

"So what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that it's business. It doesn't matter what I think of the writers or their stupid books. It matters that people will want to read and buy certain books, regardless of whether they're any good. Does it make sense to you that _Tuesdays With Morrie _sold eleven million copies? Because it sure as hell doesn't make sense to me, but that's business, and I'll always have copies in stock."

He looked slightly stunned at my little tirade, and I flushed with embarrassment at my outburst. Did I lose all sense of propriety around this man? Clearly.

A heavy silence settled over us. The weight of my failures was bearing down on me, smothering me, and I again felt the column of poison wrap itself around me.

"Isabella."

It left my skin clammy in its wake, and not even the tingling sensation of Edward's proximity could overwhelm it. I was drowning in it. My heart raced…

"I'm writing a second book."

It stopped.


	7. Someone Who Should Know Better Than That

**Author disclaims: STILL not mine.**

**Author says: I won't make excuses, but I got a job recently! It's been a while since I was properly employed full time with working hours and everything, so my life has kinda been in a weird transitory stage. This chapter, being a weird transitory chapter, just compounded and got more and more difficult to write. And without my awesome beta (I love saying that!) Rae, and a defining WC with littleclarestar, it just wouldn't have happened. Thanks, carinos. You both rock, and everyone should go read their stories. Now.**

**So enough of my rambling. On with the actual story part!**

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"_It would eventually be his wife that would save him from the dark infinite void he was tumbling towards, and his wife who would finally make him realize that even he could not do it alone."_

_-Edward Masen; "The Insipid Doctor"_

Chapter the Seventh – Someone Who Should Know Better Than That

"I just don't know why you wouldn't have told us sooner," Alice complained, dropping her napkin and reaching for her third or fourth glass of wine.

I sighed with infinite patience, picking up my wine and exchanging glances with Rosalie, who seemed desperate to fight laughter. "It's nothing to do with you, Alice. It wasn't mine to tell is all."

"I can't believe you've known for so long and just… _neglected_ to tell me. I'm so mad at you!" She emphasized this by slamming her almost empty glass back on the table, spilling a little over her wrist.

Rosalie giggled, shaking her head and lifted her own wine glass. "I think congratulations are in order," she sighed, beaming proudly at me. You would have thought _I'd_ been the one to achieve something.

"To Edward, and his brilliant new book," I responded, raising my glass. Alice rolled her eyes, but she couldn't completely hide the smile as she clinked her refilled glass with us.

###

* * *

_August 21_

"You're… what?"

He sighed, tugging on his earlobe a little, then scratched his scalp, avoiding my gaze. "I'm writing a second book."

My mind spun. "What's it about?"

He smiled a little, seeming almost reluctant, looking at me finally out of the corner of his eye. "Can't tell you."

I found myself smiling, despite myself, so elated my heart was hammering wildly with unbridled excitement at the possibilities. "Oh my God."

He shrugged, blushing lightly. "It's no big deal."

"No big deal? This is a huge deal! This could be the biggest literary deal since… since…" I floundered, looking for an appropriate example, and couldn't find one. "This is to books as Einstein was to science."

He chuckled. "I'd like to think I'm better looking than Einstein," he joked. I pinched his arm and he yelped, looking at me with an incredulous expression. "What the hell, Swan?"

"Oh my God! Oh my God, this is huge!"

"You pinched me!"

I threw off the covers, stumbling out of bed and ran to my schedule. Karen Millen slacks. Escada shirt. Dolce shawl. Perfect.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed," I sighed, exasperated. "This could turn everything around! The Swan Ball could be the venue for your huge announcement, which of course won't mean much if we don't get a teaser campaign going, and we hardly have any time. I mean, forget Dan Brown, we got Edward Masen."

"My huge announcement?"

I stopped suddenly, pulled up short by the thick dread in his voice. His face was drawn with worry and a little bit of remorse. "You mean-"

"Listen, maybe this was a mistake." He stood up suddenly, scratching his scalp some more and looking around the room with frantic eyes. "Alice sent me here to cheer you up, and you're out of bed, so I guess-"

We stood in awkward silence, both of us still as stone, the awareness heavy in the air that the next move could have drastic far-reaching consequences. "You don't want to… announce it?"

He snorted a little, shrugging one shoulder. "No one knows. Not even Jasper."

"Oh." Moving slowly, I sat down on the arm chair near the closet. "So it's a secret."

"Sort of."

The silence extended, and I realized he was still standing awkwardly next to my bed. I felt ashamed suddenly, realizing how inappropriately I'd been behaving all day, the horrible assumption I'd made and the liberties I'd taken. "I'm so sorry." He looked at me, his expression somewhat surprised, and I blushed and looked away. "I shouldn't have jumped to any conclusions. Of course, you shouldn't be expected to put yourself out there for my sake. Whatever your reasons, you should have all the time you need."

"It's not like that," he muttered, sitting carefully back on the bed. "I mean, I want to help you. I'm just not ready to talk about the book yet."

I nodded. "I understand." I didn't understand.

There was an extended silence, and I desperately wanted to crawl back under the covers and send him away, and I was out of German chocolate and I wanted more, because the heavy situation I was in wasn't going to disappear through some magically convenient coincidence. This wasn't a book. This was my life.

There was no machine of the gods.

"Isabella, I'm sorry I can't help you with this." His voice was strangely heavy, with guilt I realized, and I shrugged.

"It's my responsibility. I'm the one who failed."

_Failure…_

"You haven't failed," he sounded annoyed. "You just hit a rough spot. It happens to all of us."

"Maybe." I didn't feel much like arguing.

He stood silently for all of ten seconds before sighing dramatically. I looked up at him, waiting for him to excuse himself because I was certain he had better things to do with his day than babysit a mess like me. "You need to get out of here." I frowned. Not what I was expecting him to say. "You're wallowing, and you shouldn't be allowed to wallow for more than a few hours. So come on, get dressed. Let's go get some burgers or something."

"You're not serious."

"As a Pulitzer."

I stood up, enraged by his infuriating calm. "How is getting a burger going to help me, or the Swan Ball, or-" Charlie. I clenched my jaw and swallowed thickly. Isabella Swan does not cry.

"Hey, relax. I could've suggested a roll in the hay. We are in a bedroom, after all." He smirked, and I glared at him, clenching my fist. His expression shifted and hardened, and the seriousness of his eyes shocked me a little. "Look, you gotta take care of yourself if you're gonna take care of all your problems. You're Isabella fucking Swan. You handle big shit like this. So just get it together and do it." I blinked, shocked by the seriousness of his tone and his lack of inhibitions in bossing me around. _No one bosses Isabella Swan around_. At least, no one had, not in years. And yet, there was a strange sense of comfort in allowing someone else to make the decisions for once, in surrendering this small part of myself to another person's decisions rather than constantly having to make my own. The comfort was only compounded by the fact that it was _him _making the decision, that it was _him_ that was taking the lead. _I liked it._ For some reason the realization made me blush, but Edward seemed not to notice as he went on. "I'm gonna help you get it together – it's all I can do, because I can't do Dan Brown Swan Ball stuff."

Of course, he was right. I hung my head in shame. I needed to deal with things.

"Get dressed. I'll meet you in the living room."

He left quietly, allowing me my privacy to change and get my head together. With what little bit of determination left in my bones, I dragged myself off the chair and went to my closet. Rows and rows of stunning, expensive formal wear lined my closet, suits and dresses from every designer known – and some less known that would make a name for themselves when I wore them. In the very back, where they were neglected and forgotten, I had a pair of designer jeans and some fancy pullovers and less-dressy but overly pricey shirts. I went there now, pulling out the first thing I touched and changing quickly. I ran a brush through my hair, promising myself to get some coffee and fast, before my caffeine headache threatened to return me to my bed for the rest of the day.

Edward, as he said he would be, was standing in my living room, staring at the photos on my wall. "You've met a lot of people, he said without looking at me, and I glanced at the photos to see which might have caught his eye. Of course, they were all impressive, though not as impressive as the photos I kept in my office. These were slightly more sentimental. And all of them, dead authors.

"This one's my favorite," I murmured, standing beside him and touching one of the sterling silver ornate frames. "It was just a few months before his suicide. I never understood why an author like David Foster Wallace would want to kill himself."

"I can understand." I looked at him warily, and his expression was intent, resigned, almost ancient in its wisdom. I wondered if I should have been troubled by the morbidity of his statement, but it didn't feel like a warning sign; just a simple a truth.

"I feel like he spoke a language I couldn't hear." I looked at the picture again. "But I think you speak that language, too. He was just so… young."

He nodded, his lips turning up in a sad smile. "He was too young, wasn't he?"

"They were all too young if you ask me." I tore my eyes away from the picture and ran them over the rest. JG Ballard. Robert Jordan. Michael Crichton. Frank McCourt. That one had hit me particularly hard.

"Or too old depending on how you see it."

I didn't understand, but I nodded, allowing the moment to take its course. The loss of every one of those authors was personal to me in a way I could never fully explain. He turned to look at me after a moment when I said nothing, smiling a little and raising his eyebrows in surprised appreciation. "Look at you all dressed down and casual."

I rolled my eyes, but felt myself coloring slightly at his apparent approval. "I dress like this sometimes."

Liar. I had to take the tags off the jeans. He smirked like he knew this, but said nothing else. Instead, tilted his head towards the door as I picked up my purse and my phones. "No phones," he interjected, and I laughed outright. He frowned. "You can't relax with Alice constantly leaving you panicked voicemail messages."

He was right, but- "I never leave my phones. What if there's an emergency?"

He threw his head back and laughed. I blushed as I realized why he was laughing. I'd been avoiding calls all morning. There were probably tons of emergencies, and I wasn't even responding. Having my phone with me would only remind me of that, and leave me feeling constantly tense. He gestured to the door, and I followed him with my head down, annoyed at my apparent stupidity today. We rode down the elevator in silence, though he hummed at random tidbits with the skull-numbing Kenny G renditions of all my favorite classics.

In the lobby, he took long confident strides towards the street. I frowned, trying to keep up. "Are we taking your car?"

"I figured we'd walk."

I frowned again, opening my mouth to argue when he chuckled, the now-familiar sound of velvet being stretched over silk was oddly distracting. "What's so funny?" I asked, with none of the sting I had initially intended.

"I'm just glad to see you've rediscovered your crass rudeness."

"Rudeness?" I bit back the rest of my retort, realizing I was on the cusp of proving him right, and I would not stand for that. "I think of it as a charming straight-forwardness."

"I'm sure you do, Isabella, and I assure you you're wrong. It isn't charming at all."

He chuckled some more as I flushed, battling the urge to turn on him and give him a piece of my mind. We wandered, seemingly aimless for a while, before he finally steered me into a diner, looking very pleased with himself. I smiled a little at the atmosphere, so reminiscent of the diner Charlie used to like, then bit my lip to hide a grimace of pain at the thought of Charlie. I looked up to see Edward staring intently at me, and I quickly looked away and made a beeline for an empty booth.

I sat down heavily, hiding my face behind the menu and not really seeing the words. A waitress came by a few minutes later, snapping her gum and shifting her weight from one foot to the other while we ordered. She looked bored and slightly offended by me, especially when I ordered nothing but a coffee. We sat in awkward tension, and I stared at the plastic tabletop, tracing the colorful spiral patterns with the tips of my fingers and wondering how dirty they probably were.

"Isabella," he murmured quietly, his hand suddenly covering my own to still it, startling me into jumping slightly. "It's going to be okay."

I snorted without thinking, dumping packets of artificial sweetener into my coffee. "I'm sure. After all, if you say it will be, why on earth wouldn't it be?" I stirred the sugar in, getting angrier at him by the moment. "You sit there with your perfectly fulfilling job, with your name in history books and a second book in the making, with women falling into your bed at a crook of your finger, what do you know about it?"

I glared at him, clenching my hands into fists. He looked right back, a strange expression on his face, before finally retracting his hand and putting it in his lap. "Tell me how your father died."

What?

I stared at him, dumbstruck, but he held my gaze. I swallowed thickly, looking away. "He got shot."

"Why?"

"A teenager under the influence of a recreational drug of some sort. Paranoid. Jumpy. He shot his friend, and Charlie was the first cop on the scene. He was trying to talk him into putting the gun down when the boy put a bullet in his brain."

His eyes showed a measure of pain and sympathy, and I stared at my hands on the table so I wouldn't have to see it. I didn't want Edward Cullen's sympathy. "I'm very sorry." I nodded to let him know I'd heard him, but said nothing. "Your mother must have been devastated."

I ground my teeth. She should have been devastated. But when had Renee ever done anything she was supposed to do?

"Is she still…?" He trailed off delicately and I composed my features the best I could.

"She's alive. She lives with her husband in Jacksonville."

He stared at me a moment longer, before speaking. "She's a pretty shitty mother, isn't she?"

Then just like that, something inside me snapped. Maybe it was hearing it for the first time, finally someone had come out and said it - recognized it. Maybe it hit me so hard because he knew and he'd never even met her, or been there through anything. Maybe because I finally realized I was losing Charlie this time, and she still wasn't there - for me or for him. Or maybe because that the stupid floozy was running around the Southern US, playing infidel wife to the nobody she chose over her daughter. Perhaps, it was due to the fact things had gotten so bad and I had been just as stupid, blind and ridiculous as her.

He frowned, leaning forward and brushing my cheek. "Don't cry."

Which of course only made me want to cry harder. I hunched my shoulders forward, sniffling. "I'm not crying."

"Of course you're not," he soothed, and I swatted his hand away impatiently, picking up a napkin and hiding my face behind it.

"I don't need your pity!"

I heard him tap his fingers against the table, a disjointed nervous rhythm. "Come on, let's get out of here," he mumbled, standing up and pulling out his wallet. I watched him warily as he pulled out some crumpled bills and tossed them on the table. He saw me looking and scratched his scalp some more, looking away. But I saw thunder in his eyes. He was angry.

I stood up stiffly, picking up my purse and walking hurriedly ahead of him. "If anyone should be angry it's me," I growled, and he scoffed behind me, stopping abruptly when we were outside.

"Why on Earth would _you_ be angry?"

"You come into my home, invade my privacy and push at matters you know nothing about. How dare you presume to speak about my personal life?"

He put on an infuriating smirk. "Don't you mean the lack thereof?"

I gaped, my mouth opening and closing like a fish, and briefly debated assaulting him with my purse. "My personal life is none of your business!" I screeched indignantly, and he raised his eyebrows with amusement though his eyes were raging.

"So what, I'm just the stupid bastard you kiss whenever you damn well feel like it?"

That pulled me up short, and I fidgeted, uncomfortable with his directness. He sighed, frustrated, then carefully put his hands on my shoulders, almost as if he were afraid I would resist his touch. The electric current I had come to expect was there, heightening my senses. When one of his hands reached up to cup my cheek, I nuzzled it unthinkingly, forgetting for a moment I was in public. "You're not just some guy I kiss," I mumbled, too embarrassed by my admission to look him in the eye.

He chuckled a little, and I shivered. "Good. Because you're not just some girl I kiss." He leaned forward and my heart bounced again.

"We're on the street," I sputtered, and he froze. He pulled back slightly to look at me, and his eyes were full of catlike green amusement.

"So we are," he murmured, releasing my face and shoulder to grab one of my hands. I stared at it for a moment, slightly stunned by his casual approach to… whatever it was we had. "Is this ok?"

I looked at him, nodding because I wasn't entirely sure if it _was_ ok. But it _felt_ ok. So I hoped it was.

We walked silently back to my building, though the quietness was strangely soothing. I still felt lost in my mind, and the feeling of being submerged that came with being around Edward Cullen was even more pronounced than usual. He walked with a slight spring in his step, though I noted he had shortened his stride so I could walk with him without exerting myself. His small consideration was touching, and I had to remind myself it wasn't that big a consideration.

As soon as we stepped into the apartment, he spun me around and backed me into the door. I yelped a little, alarmed by his manhandling though my body thrummed with anticipation. He had my back pressed right up against the door, and was hovering over me, his forearms on either side of my head, his nose trailing up my neck leaving goose bumps like wildfire in his wake. I breathed raggedly, waiting for his next move, dread and excitement and fear and confusion and a hundred emotions tumbling through me like storming winds.

"Is this ok?" he asked again, his voice husky and deep, no longer velvet over silk. Instead it was the low growl of a powerful vehicle, idling, waiting to come to life and propel itself forward.

Mesmerized, hypnotized and utterly captivated by his proximity, I nodded, my senses floating on the haze of his scent.

_What are you doing? This isn't you…_

But when his hands came down to cup my face again, my rationale left me, and I felt my body explode in immediate hyper-awareness.

His lips brushed mine, gently at first, before he released a sound of satisfaction mingled with defeat and crushed his lips to mine. The back of my head hit the door, making a hollow sound that took a backseat to the sudden heat that ran over my skin and licked at my being. He pressed his full body against me, and I felt _him._ His body was hard and perfect and so very _hot._ I felt like I was being pinned by an inferno, so overpowering that it nearly detracted from the very apparent lust I felt pressed up against my hip.

_He wants you._

The thought baffled me. Edward Masen, the greatest literary genius of my generation, wanted _me_? Sure, I was successful, but he never seemed interested in that. He wanted me _physically._ He was _attracted_ to me. Again, the thought stunned me, and I gasped into his mouth. He took advantage by running his tongue across my own, the sensation far more earth-shattering than it should have been, and I moaned unashamedly into his mouth as his hands gripped my hair, angling my head to give him better access, his long fingers running down the column of my throat and pressing against my collarbone, gripping the collar of my shirt as though on the verge of ripping it off.

"I want you," he growled, gravel and crackling firewood that echoed my thoughts. There was an embarrassing whimper that I couldn't believe came from me, but his lips curved into a smirk against mine and he chuckled deep and low in his chest. I felt it rumble against my own. The hand that gripped my collar released it, one finger loosening at a time, and he ran his hand under the material, grazing my shoulder and slipping his fingers underneath my bra strap.

_Don't let him! This is absurd!_

His hands trailed lower, and the voice of reason moaned with me as one of his hands gripped my upper arm and the other trailed ever so lightly over my nipple through. Even through my shirt and bra, the sensation sent bolts of lightning shooting through my bones, and I arched into his touch. Encouraged, he gripped me harder, and I fisted a handful of his hair to tug his lip between my teeth. I had been touched by men before, but never had my body responded so enthusiastically to the contact before. It came alive. The point of contact with his hand on my breast, sure and firm and kneading in just the right way, became the focus of my world. I whimpered again, wanton and uninhibited and practically a stranger because _this wasn't me._

I threw my head back against the door again, the hollow thud sounding even more distant and removed now than it had the first time. The hand that he had gripped my upper arm with suddenly grabbed my thigh to hitch it over his hip. He ground himself against me, and I was again made aware of just how much he _wanted _me. I moaned with pleasure at the thought.

_He wants me, he really wants me._

Sighing, he released my mouth and kissed along my jaw, down my neck, nuzzled my earlobe before catching it with his teeth. "Fuck," he hissed, his hand on my thigh beginning that rhythm again. Tight, release. Tight, release. _Enchanting._ Yes, that was it. "You're incredible," he said against the shell of my ear, his grip loosening on both my breast and my thigh, and I sighed at the loss. He heard it and understood it, nuzzling my neck some more and leaving chaste kisses as he found his way back to my mouth. "I don't want to stop. Believe me, I want nothing more than to have my way with you right here against this door right now."

And I believed him, because I could still feel his length pressing into me.

His hands moved slowly, almost tenderly back up to my face, and he pressed his lips to mine again, closed this time, inhaling deeply through his nose as he nibbled my lower lip. "But you're not just some girl I kiss."

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh!

My heart picked up, hammering wildly in my chest at his words, and I blushed like a teenager at the implication. He kissed me once more, and I relished the thrill of the sparks in my bloodstream before he pulled away with a regretful sigh. "Not yet," he muttered, so low I almost didn't hear. I probably wasn't meant to hear it either.

He took several more deep breaths, steadying himself before he pushed away from the door slightly. My knees wobbled a little – thankfully he didn't notice. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to assess the damage. I probably looked… unkempt.

With a lingering stroke of his fingers he released me, turning around and walking into the apartment. He stopped at the table where I'd left my phones, scooping them up, then picking up my keys, too. "What are you doing?" I asked with an unfamiliar breathless voice.

He looked up at me, looking flushed and pleased and extremely _good._ He smiled that crooked grin, and tossed my keys at me. I caught them awkwardly. "We're going into the office."

I blanched. "I don't know if-"

"You'll be great, trust me. You just have to keep it together." His eyes twinkled, and I stared at the floor, chewing my lip. "I'll be there with you, Isabella. The whole time."

I looked up at him, my hopes rising a little with his words. "Really?"

"Really." He smiled encouragingly at me, and I nodded. It would be ok.

Edward would be with me.


	8. THIS IS NOT AN UPDATE

THIS IS NOT AN UPDATE.

* * *

I have been MIA from the fandom for the past few months. Honestly, I don't feel like making excuses except to say that I've been going through a shitstorm of a personal life. The bottom line is that I've lost the will to write this story the way I intended to write it when I first looked at my blank word document and imagined the world I wanted to fill it with. I'm angry and bitter and resentful, disenchanted and utterly defeated, and I don't want Edward and Bella to be together. Until that feeling goes away, I'm putting this story on official hiatus. I am so incredibly sorry to those of you that have read and reviewed, and I desperately want to make it up to you all. Thank you for every kind word, I promise I'll respond to all the reviews in due time.

All the best,

Agora.


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